


The World Moves

by cesau



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: (Not Really a) Mystery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, Ensemble Cast, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Multiple, Politics, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-18 03:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 98,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11283198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cesau/pseuds/cesau
Summary: For years now, the world has lived in fear of the mysterious criminal organization known only as the Fire Emblem, notorious for bringing nations to their knees. Now its sights are set on Ylisse. But as one country is thrown into upheaval, a young girl in Tellius becomes the target of a personal attack by the shady organization. As players on both sides race to protect what is dear, they must ask themselves: who is behind the Fire Emblem, and what is their goal?





	1. Prologue

There was a small cellar, dimly lit by a single low bulb and a few candles burnt down nearly to the wick. It was mostly bare, save for the old wooden desk propped up against one cement wall. At one end of the desk, a news program poured in through an old radio, frequently interrupted by short bursts of static. Reception was spotty on a good day; with the intensity of the storm outside, it was almost a wonder any signal was coming through at all.

Providing a stark contrast to the beat-up old machine, an expensive laptop sat on the opposite end of the desk. Its screen sat black and empty, unused at the moment.

In front of it all sat a figure shrouded in a dark, hooded robe.

“Tensions rising...Prime Minis...and opposition leader...people of Valm protest...be the work of...Fire Emblem?” the radio spat out.

The hooded figure grinned. They had worried at first; Ylisse had close ties with Archanea, and they weren't prepared for that fight. Not yet. But things were going more smoothly than they had hoped for. Greedy men were everywhere, and they crumbled so easily before the promise of power or wealth.

The figure switched off the radio just as the cellar door creaked open. The sound of howling wind and heavy rain was short-lived as a newcomer quickly crept inside and shut the door. He removed his heavy raincoat, revealing a dark robe underneath, identical to his partner's.

Without a word, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and set it on the desk. A shaky video was playing, showing some kind of low-budget cable network talent show. _Vapid, useless people making fools of themselves on television, as per usual,_ the first man thought.

“What is this?” he spat out, not bothering to hide his contempt.

“A problem,” the newcomer replied evenly.

At that moment, the video zoomed in on one of the contestants. It was a young woman with bright blue eyes and shoulder-length brown hair, a wide smile plastered on her face, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. She was nearly bouncing with excitement.

The hooded figure eyed the video with suspicion. There was something about that girl...her face, the way she smiled...but she couldn't be...

The video continued.

“And here's our next contestant! Tell us a little bit about yourself,” the host of the program said, handing the girl a microphone.

“My name is Mist and I'm from Melior, and this is an old folk song I learned from my mother!” she said, her smile never wavering.

The camera panned out, and suddenly the carved medallion hanging loose over her heart was grotesquely visible. When she opened her mouth and started singing _that_ song, there was no more doubt. The hooded man gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles began to turn white.

 _'Problem'_ was an understatement.

* * *

“You were really great!” Rolf cheered as Mist walked off the stage toward her family and friends. Despite the excitement, she was glad to put the bright lights and stage curtains behind her. The program was only a small-time Tellian broadcast, but she'd still been really nervous singing live. Out of view of the cameras, she heaved a sigh of relief and offered a weak smile.

“Thanks,” she said. She lifted the silver medal hanging around her neck, overlapped with her mother's medallion now, embarrassed but proud. “I tried my best!”

“You should've gotten first,” Rolf assured her.

“No way!” she protested, knocking shoulders with her friend as they walked toward the exit. “Did you hear that Heron girl? She was amazing! She totally deserved first!”

“Probably,” another voice added as they approached. Mist looked up to see her brother, wearing a teasing smile on his face. She batted his arm.

“Hey!” she chided.

“Kidding, kidding,” Ike said, rubbing his arm in mock hurt. “You sounded good.”

“Well of course I did!” Mist protested, pouting. “It was mom's song. There's no way I could mess that up.”

Ike was silent for a moment, seeming to debate whether or not he actually wanted to speak—a truly remarkable occurrence for someone as blunt as he usually was.

“You really looked a lot like her up there,” he said finally. “She would have been proud.”

Mist was happy to hear it, but it made her feel a bit gloomy anyway. Elena's song was one of the few memories she had of her mother. It made her a little jealous of Ike, really, who must have remembered her much more clearly. But neither he nor their father were keen on talking about Elena—never had been. So the song became something precious to her, a tie to her mother, proof that she had loved her.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Second place in a live competition! This was a time to celebrate, not to get caught up in sad things.

“That Heron sang really beautifully, though,” she mused. The funny thing was...the song the Heron sang reminded Mist of her mother's lullaby. It wasn't quite the same tune, and the words were different, but something about it seemed so familiar.

Still, that strangeness was soon forgotten, as caught up as she was in the excitement of having performed for an audience for the first time. It wouldn't be recalled for many days to come.

* * *

Leanne came off the stage with a cheerful smile, hands wrapped lightly around the cheap trinket the judges had given her. Reyson personally thought the thing gaudy at best, but Leanne seemed happy enough, and he supposed that was what mattered. She was still humming under her breath when she approached him, and then she stopped and held her arms out for a hug. He rolled his eyes and obliged her; he'd never been one to deny his sister's simple wishes.

“You don't need me to tell you you sang well,” he told her. He stepped back and was unsurprised to see a teasing smile on her face.

“Next time...you sing, too,” she said slowly, the words of the common tongue still proving troublesome for her. She insisted on using it anyway when they were away from home, apparently entertained by the challenge it presented her. Reyson was usually patient enough to play along, but surrounded by so many beorc and for so long, his resolve was tested. He switched to the old language, which came more naturally to the both of them.

“I'm sure our dear brother would be happy to join you instead,” he said. “Anyway, you've been nagging me about mingling with beorc for months. Are you happy now?”

Leanne immediately started trilling at him in the old language.

“Amazing!" she said. "I just sang like I always do, and they were so impressed! Beorc are so strange, Reyson, aren't they?”

“Beorc are a lot of things,” he answered.

“It's funny to hear you say that. You used to complain about them all time, and now here you are, helping me to learn more about them. I really do love hearing them sing. Especially that girl, the one who sang our song...”

“You noticed it, too?” Reyson thought back to the brown-haired girl. She'd been young, likely not even out of school yet. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but what had really struck him was the song. “I thought it was a little odd. I've never heard it outside of our tribe.”

“She sang it beautifully, though, don't you think? It's just like Lillia used to say—” Leanne stopped and turned away, a small smile on her face. “I suppose I shouldn't,” she said with a hint of reproach. “You're so quick to anger these days.”

Reyson scowled and she laughed. He said, “If you knew half the things I've been putting up with on a daily basis, you'd be just as bad.”

“Oh? And what sorts of things are those?”

Reyson ignored the clever look in her eyes. No matter how she needled him, he wasn't going to share the details of the the tribal police's latest undertaking. Leanne was too stubborn for her own good. If she knew about the awful things they'd been turning up recently, she'd try to get involved and fix things herself. He wasn't about to let that happen.

He'd already lost one sister to laguz traffickers. He wasn't going to lose another.

* * *

“Dear lady, you look as stunning as ever!” the silver-haired man said joyfully as he sat down at one end of the long conference table. His stoic aide quietly took the next seat over. “I see leadership has not dulled your beauty one bit!”

Emmeryn smiled politely at the man sitting across from her: Virion, premier of the province of Rosanne to the northwest. He had a reputation as notorious flirt, but Emmeryn had had enough personal dealings with the man to know that his intentions, at least, were good. He could be charming and surprisingly shrewd, but he was generally easy to please.

“You flatter me, Virion,” she said. “You're also looking well.”

“Why, thank you,” he replied, still with a cheerful smile on his face. In moments, however, it shifted into a sterner expression. “But on a more serious note, prime minister, we do need to discuss the situation in Rosanne.”

She knew immediately what he was talking about; anyone in the country would have. Five days ago, a militia from the province of Valm had crossed into Rosanne and begun occupying government buildings. There was no definitive word yet on who was leading them, though Emmeryn had her suspicions. In the meantime, she had contacted the Valmese premier and found him hesitant to give up any names.

As leader of Ylisse, Emmeryn had a responsibility to resolve this situation as quickly as possible, but unexpected complications like these were constantly popping up, and working through them diplomatically took time that was difficult to explain away to the victims of the crisis. Diplomacy was, and always had been, Emmeryn's favored method of addressing conflict during her time in office. She had a trump card, if it came to that, but the thought of using force where peace might yet prevail left a sour taste in her mouth.

“We've already sent agents to Valm to discuss negotiations,” she told Virion. “I promise you, we're doing all we can.”

Virion's red-headed companion chose that moment to speak up. “We are certainly grateful for your aid, prime minister, but surely you understand the immediacy of our situation?” the woman said, a deceptively cheery smile on her face. “Rosanne has been in uproar for nearly a week now. Something must be done.”

Despite all outward appearances, Cherche and her boss were undeniably cut from the same cloth. At all times, they were cool and collected, and calculating at that.

Emmeryn sighed. She had no desire to see infighting between her own people. And though Valm had overstepped it boundaries by attempting to annex Rosanne, she feared the move was only a prelude to an attempt at total secession. Her priority right now was securing Valm and preventing further damage, and she knew sending troops into Rosanne would only provoke them, give them reason to riot.

“The situation right now is...very tense,” Emmeryn said after a long pause. She repeated her mantra, “We're doing all we can.”

Even Virion looked unconvinced, and that was never a good sign. Against everything her advisers had told her, she decided to lay out the truth for them. If she wanted to cultivate peace, surely there must be room for trust. Virion and Cherche were good, dedicated people. They had a right to know what was happening in their homeland.

“Please understand that if I could, I would remedy this situation right away,” Emmeryn said, meeting Virion's eyes and hoping he could see her sincerity. “But right now, the entire country is at risk. Valm has been pushing against the central government for years now, and one false move could lead to civil war.”

“So you mean to make Rosanne a casualty for the greater good?” Cherche said. The most terrifying thing about that woman, Emmeryn thought, was her ability to be perfectly menacing even with a smile on her face.

“Now, now, Cherche,” Virion said, placating her. “I trust our dear prime minister when she says she wants to help. And it pains me, but perhaps it would be safer for the people of Rosanne if we were to avoid the use of force.” He glanced at Emmeryn. “For now, at least.”

Emmeryn let out a breath of relief. She'd made the right decision in telling the pair her true worries. Perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible as she'd thought...

“In the meantime, however, you may wish to take a look at these,” Virion said, backing his chair away from the table and standing up. With a sidelong glance, he set down an open envelope on the table; Emmeryn could see the corners of photographs sticking out from it. “This _situation_ may be more complicated than you think.”

Later, sitting at the desk in her office with a blank look on her face, Emmeryn wondered at how quickly this all had spun out of her control.

Tensions within Ylisse had only been rising for decades now, but it had still shocked Emmeryn when she first heard news of Valm's attack on Rosanne. She'd spent the past three years in office trying to cultivate peace between the nation's ever-feuding provinces, and though progress was slow, she was certain it was being made. That only made it more frustrating that one misstep could bring the whole nation to its knees.

She stared at the documents laid out on the desk before her. The photos Virion had given to her explained quite a lot, and they made her more nervous than ever.

They were a series of blurry shots of Loren, a Rosanne border town, and the first to be invaded by Valm. A few of the photos were of the Valmese militia, but the truly worrying ones were of nondescript buildings throughout the town. At least a dozen had been marked with graffiti; the image of a shield with five inlaid gems, entombed in a wreath of flames.

The Fire Emblem. Here, in Ylisse. It couldn't have been anything else.

No amount of peaceful negotiation would solve this problem; it was time bring out the ace up her sleeve.

She pushed the photos away and dialed her secretary.

“Ms. Emmeryn,” his polite voice chimed over the intercom. “What can I do for you?”

“Libra, please contact Director Walhart at once.”

* * *

“Our top story today, a grand jury has failed to return an indictment on Senator Numida Grann,” the radio spat out. “For months now, Grann has battled charges by federal investigators in Begnion claiming he misused state resources, including funds and employees, to benefit Gritnea Industries, a corporation in which he is a shareholder. Asked whether the Senate would respond to the people's demand for Grann to be removed from his position, Vice Minister and head of the Senate Lekain Gaddos had this to say: 'There is no justice in punishing an innocent man.' The public response—”

Micaiah turned off the radio, gritting her teeth. Just another rich man getting away with exploiting the disenfranchised commoner—just another day in Daein. That was how she'd ended up in this run-down shack outside Nevassa, hunched over an old radio, practically itchy with the need to do _something_ to help her people.

Daein's situation was an infuriating one. Despite Tellius's central power being held in Begnion, its various counties had always enjoyed a certain level of individual freedoms that had never been questioned. Never questioned, at least, until Ashnard found his way to the highest seat in Daein's governing body and proceeded to use it to pick fights with the rest of the country (particularly Crimea, and it was fortunate that Governor Ramon had the patience of a saint).

The real trouble of it was his people _loved_ Ashnard for his ruthless mannerisms. Micaiah couldn't blame them for it, either—she'd freedly admit that before Ashnard, Daein had been plagued by a string of incompetent, weak-willed leaders who'd nearly run it into the ground. Ashnard, for all his faults, was clever and determined. Daein, once the weakest of the lot, had finally begun to strengthen under his leadership.

Of course, then Ashnard had gone and gotten himself caught up in that embezzlement scandal. And though Micaiah's grandmother couldn't very well force him out of office (Ashnard's supporters were nothing if not loyal—Micaiah suspected bribery and blackmail were primarily responsible for that), Queen Misaha could at least appoint a special operative to oversee Ashnard's government in Daein.

It would have been fine, she was sure, if only the Senate hadn't gotten involved. Uncle Sephiran would have found some way to sort things out in Daein, had her grandmother been given the chance to appoint him to the position. Instead, the Senate had leaped at the chance to take over, because, in their own words: “Surely such a weighty decision should be handled by a group representing us all, not just one person!” Micaiah found the whole thing disgustingly hilarious—as if the senators weren't a giant hive mind to begin with.

So instead of Uncle Sephiran, Daein got Jarod. Some days, Micaiah felt a strong urge to start hitting things (senators, mostly). But she had an image to uphold as the heir to the Tellian throne, and she was level-headed enough to control those urges. Figurehead position or not, as princess, her actions still reflected back on her grandmother, and what little power Misaha still held couldn't afford to be compromised. Hence the secrecy and the hideout. Micaiah _was_ going to fix Daein, one way or another. No one else was going to hurt her home.

But she was distracted from her continued fantasies of exactly where she'd like tell Jarod to take his corrupt task force when the tripwires around the hideout went off. Within moments of hearing the high chime of the warning bells, she had her red cloak over her head, covering her face, hands poised to grab the smoke bombs in her belt.

The hideout was supposed to be secure, but these days, you never really knew...

“And then the whole thing just blew up!” yelled a boisterous voice.

Micaiah's first reaction was relief. She knew that voice—one of her brother's friends, though his name escaped her at the moment. No danger then, just carelessness. Which then inspired a truly righteous bout of anger in her. Sothe, at the very least, should understand how serious this was! What was he doing, going around setting off their security systems? Did he _want_ those Begnion tyrants to find them?

With an audible sigh, she moved her hands away from her belt to remove her hood, then planted them on her hips. As Sothe and his loud redheaded friend walked in, she put together the most disappointed look she could muster (a noble but lackluster imitation of Uncle Sephiran's face after a meeting with the Senate).

“Woah, dude, what's wrong with your sister's face?”

Dammit.

“You two do understand the concept of a _'secret hideout,'_ don't you?” Micaiah asked sullenly. Sothe, for his part, looked sheepish. His friend just looked confused.

“Sorry, he just sort of followed me here,” Sothe muttered. Micaiah loved her brother dearly, but sometimes she wished he would act a bit more maturely regarding this whole rebellion thing. She gave him a stern look.

“It's fine, so long as he's the only one,” she warned. She turned to her brother's friend and smiled, holding out a hand. “Now then, I don't think we've ever actually been properly introduced.”

The boy stared at her hand for a moment and then looked at Sothe, who just shrugged. He stepped forward and accepted the handshake.

“Name's Tormod! This is a pretty sweet hideout you guys have got here!”

“I'm starting to think we need to work on the 'hide' part of that,” Micaiah muttered. More directly, she said, “It's nice to meet you, Tormod. I wondered what kind of person could actually get Sothe to come out of his shell. My name is—”

“You're Micaiah Kirsch Altina, duh,” Tormod cut her off. “You think I don't even know my own country's princess? Kind of surprised to hear about you and Sothe, but I think it's pretty cool we've got some royalty trying to fix things up in Daein!”

Micaiah looked at Sothe, who was very obviously avoiding eye contact. 

“Are you just telling _everyone_ about our group?” she asked tiredly.

“Not _everyone_ ,” he said, still not looking at her.

“Oh, no, it's totally cool,” Tormod said excitedly. “See, I'm on your side! I want to help!”

“It's true, and he makes great explosives,” Sothe supplied.

After a day of bad news, that was not what Micaiah wanted to hear. She groaned and threw her hands up in the air. “Oh great, explosives, just what we needed for this covert operation,” she said sarcastically. She paused for a moment and sighed for the umpteenth time that day. She really didn't want someone she didn't know getting involved in all of this. On the other hand, Sothe trusted Tormod enough to bring him here, and she knew her brother didn't trust easy.

She turned to Tormod. “I'm trying to keep this low-profile; I don't exactly want word getting out that the queen's granddaughter is starting a revolution. But if Sothe trusts you, I believe you're on our side. So as of right now, you're in. You're one of us.

“Welcome to the Dawn Brigade.”

* * *

Soren was sorting through leads in the front office when Ike and Mist returned, apparently bickering over the merits of allowing Mist to cook dinner that night. All biases aside, Soren very much hoped Ike won that argument. The last time Mist cooked, more than half the company was put out of commission with food poisoning. (On the one hand, it meant Soren had the office to himself, not to mention a little peace and quiet, for once. On the other, it meant he was the only one to take incoming phone calls. It had taken weeks and what Titania called far too many fruit baskets to regain the customers' trust. To this day, Soren still wasn't allowed to answer the phone.)

As they passed by the front desk, Ike stopped. He leaned over and grinned, then said, “I'm supposed to tell you to find something more interesting than another cheating spouse case for the next job.”

“Tell Boyd he's free to work for pennies on his own, then. We take the jobs that pay, not the ones that are enjoyable,” Soren responded, rolling his eyes. When Greil and Titania had retired from Greil Investigations last year, they'd left Soren in a management position for a reason. The company had no lack of employees with enthusiasm for the work, but Soren suspected he was the only one there would would _ever_ take interest in its more mundane day-to-day operations. He had a very real fear that some of them would work for free, if the case were only sad or interesting enough, and a good portion of his job consisted of preventing that from happening.

“I'll pass the message along,” Ike said. “By the way, this was sitting in the mailbox.” He dropped a yellow envelope on the counter before following Mist up the stairs that led to the apartment above the office. Soren picked up the envelope and looked at it suspciously. It wasn't addressed to anyone, and it had no return address either—only a sloppy message scrawled in black Sharpie: **“URGENT NOTICE -S.K.A.”** Soren grabbed a letter opener off the desk and cut the envelope methodically. The letter inside was carefully typed and neatly folded, printed on what appeared to be letterhead from the Melioran mayor's office but obviously couldn't be, because the company's customers tended more toward the village idiot than the affable elite. And then he noticed what he hoped was only a very convincing imitation of the royal seal.

It read: _This is a CONFIDENTIAL notice to the proprietor of Greil Investigations. If you have received this message in error, please disregard it. Or you will be found and dealt with. Personally._

Well, he only knew of one person with access to the royal seal and local political offices, and the nerve to abuse them both. The Little Empress. Of course.

Soren could already feel a headache coming on.

* * *

_In a small cellar far from any watchful eyes or listening ears, the Fire Emblem changed its course. The world moved with it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on this AU going forward:
> 
> 1\. I'll be up front here: this fic is, like, 50% Tellius, 45% Ylisse, 4% Elibe, and 1% Other. Elibe doesn't come into play until about chapter 11. Mentions of Archanea are sprinkled throughout. Basic knowledge of Marth's games might help you out here.
> 
> 2\. Related note: each "continent" is now its own country. That means both Ylisse(+Valm) and Archanea exist separately. As such, the landscape of this AU does not necessarily conform to in-game maps, or I'd have to explain away two suspiciously similar land masses. Generally speaking, locations within a country remain relative (ie: Crimea is west of Daein; Valm is west of Ylisstol).
> 
> 3\. Regarding laguz/taguel/manaketes: Everyone is operating off the same life span here, so there are no ancient dragons and no "actually 500 years old" lolis. If a character looks 20, they're now 20. The Petting Zoo People do retain their animal characteristics (wings, ears, etc.) but actually transforming is something of a lost art. This accidentally turned into an Everyone-is-Degrees-of-Branded AU?
> 
> 4\. There are a lot of characters with improbable ages for the jobs they're working. I blame this one on Fire Emblem's absurdly young cast. Suspend your disbelief at the door.
> 
> 5\. Final note, this is a gen story. The only pairing inside is mentions of Greil/Titania being married, which is all in the background. You should be able to safely ignore it if that's not your cup of tea; I think Titania shows up a grand total of three times in the 90,000 words that follow. All shipping is relegated to sequels and side stories.


	2. 1-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 1, the one with the set-up.

“Princess Sanaki, please slow down!” Hands full with a stack of heavy bankers boxes, it was all Marcia could do to keep her charge within eyesight, let alone stay close enough to actually do her job. It didn't help that these old halls seemed to twist around like a maze. How was anyone supposed to keep their head straight in these fancy old Crimean estates?

Sanaki briefly stopped and looked back at her bodyguard. _Miss Tanith could've warned me about the kid's attitude when I took the job,_ Marcia thought, stopping for a moment as well to shuffle the weight in her arms. As she did, Sanaki rolled her eyes and took off. _Ah, crackers! There she goes again!_

Ignoring the calls of her bodyguard, Sanaki marched briskly through the halls of the old manor that her family called home when the queen had business in Crimea. She reached the black car waiting out front well before her bodyguard came stumbling out with the boxes. By the time Marcia caught up, she'd already dropped one of the boxes twice, leaving it scuffed and dented. Sanaki observed the damage with an indifferent glance.

“I suppose it's fine, as long as the files are still intact,” she said haughtily.

“Princess,” Marcia growled, a dangerous smile on her face. “You keep this up and we're _both_ gonna get the scolding of a lifetime from the demon.”

Sanaki shrugged and motioned for the driver to pop open the trunk of the car, where Marcia was headed. “Tanith is your boss, not mine,” she said.

“You really think that'll stop her from going off on you?” Marcia replied, unloading the boxes with heavy grunt. “Phew. Your funeral, kiddo.” She headed back around the side of the car and opened the door for her charge, who slid in gracefully. As Marcia climbed in after, she asked, “Do I even wanna know what you've got squirreled away in all those boxes?”

Pausing briefly for dramatic effect (a family habit, as far as Marcia could tell), Sanaki smirked, then answered, “Justice.”

Marcia gave her the skeptical look she usually reserved for when her chowderhead brother made up some dumb story to hide his gambling. (Most recently, he used all their savings to “feed starving orphans and buy medicine for their sick puppies.” That one was definitely in the top ten.)

“Justice. Really.” It was clearly not a question. Sanaki frowned, apparently annoyed at being called out. Marcia could see why, she supposed. The kid probably wasn't used to being questioned by her subjects, judging by the way people treated her grandma and uncle. Well, that was just too bad, as far as Marcia was concerned. As long as she was going to be held responsible for Sanaki's safety, Marcia needed to know what kind of trouble the princess was planning on getting into. At least then she could try to prepare for the fallout.

Whatever the case, Sanaki was quick to recover from her momentary displeasure. She smirked at Marcia with far too much confidence for a girl her age and continued, “Justice, in this case, being suspicious records on various senators, which may or may not indicate an issue of systemic corruption.”

The way she recited the phrase led Marcia to believe she was just repeating a line she'd heard somewhere else. Those were a lot of big words for a 13-year-old. Marcia sighed.

“Follow-up question: do I wanna know why you've got those?”

“You'll see soon enough,” Sanaki said seriously. To the driver, she ordered, “Take us to Greil Investigations.”

Marcia groaned. This was definitely going to be trouble. She didn't know what particular brand of it they were headed for, but she knew it was coming. And at the end of it all, _Marcia_ was the one who'd take the blame for it. Two weeks in and she was already on the fast track to being fired, she could feel it. This job, guarding this kid? Really not worth it.

* * *

Micaiah slammed the door to the hideout and lowered her hood, breathing fast. She let out a cry of frustration as she walked into the common room, where the others in the brigade were already gathered. 

“I swear, pretty soon Zelgius will be following me into the bathroom even, with the way he's been hovering,” she complained. She looked around the room and was pleased to see everyone else had already arrived—though she hated being later herself, it was reassuring to know she could trust the others to stay on top of things in her absence. When she walked in, Edward, Leonardo, and Tormod were at the table playing cards, while Nolan sat by the window reading what looked like some sort of political manifesto. Sothe, being Sothe, was standing in a dark corner of the room, brooding. All of them looked up at her arrival, apparently confused at the mention of Zelgius. Micaiah held up a hand and smiled in amusement.

“You know, big guy, bodyguard, always in a black suit?” she said. “Never more than 10 feet away from me at any given time? He's kind of hard to miss.”

Tormod clapped his fist to his palm and said, “Oh, is that the Black Knight Sothe's always complaining about?”

Micaiah narrowed her eyes and turned to Sothe. “Black Knight...?” she asked.

“You never told me he had a name,” was his only response.

“Never told you—of course he has a name! And why 'knight'?” Micaiah pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Never mind. If we're all here, let's get down to business.” She took a seat at the table, confiscated the playing cards, and motioned for Sothe and Nolan to join them, which they did without complaint. When the whole group was present and listening, she continued. “So here's the latest: Numida's holding a press conference right here in Nevassa tomorrow afternoon. I say we show up to ask some questions of our own. Nolan, are you up for this one?”

“Just tell me what to do,” he answered easily. As the Brigade's oldest member (and, frankly, the only one who could pass for a responsible adult), he was their go-to for public events like this, where Micaiah herself couldn't be seen. He was mature enough to be taken seriously, and inconspicuous enough that he wouldn't draw any unwanted attention. He also ran his own online publication, which made him ideal for covering any situation a reporter would naturally be expected to appear at anyway.

“We'll do the usual. Just show up as a reporter for _The Public_ and don't let him get away with any PR nonsense answers,” Micaiah said. “Meanwhile, as long as the press is there anyway, we'll stage a protest outside the building. We can head out in teams in the morning to spread the word. People in the city are so fed up, they'll be happy to jump in on this. Leonardo, Edward, you're on sign duty. We've still got most of the ones from the latest muck-up with Jarod a few months back. Sothe, I need you to start printing some fliers we can hand out.”

“Oh! Question! What about me?” Tormod asked. Micaiah actually startled a moment; she hadn't noticed she'd left him out. They'd been doing this operation with just the five of them for so long, she'd actually forgotten to think of something for their newest member. But from what little she knew of Tormod...

“You're from a laguz tribe, right? Can you try to get some of them to show up?” That could actually be immensely helpful, she realized. Numida didn't exactly have a good reputation with them, either. And Daein's beorc and laguz didn't agree on anything—if she could get them to present a united front, there could be no question of who was in the right. As an afterthought, she added, “Also, please don't blow anything up.” Tormod looked a little disappointed—which was somewhat worrying—but he said he thought he could round up at least a few of his friends.

And like that, the Dawn Brigade was back in action, ready for the next step in its mission to save Daein.

* * *

For all the scandals her father had been caught up in during his political career, Emmeryn still didn't think the man had ever been in as much trouble as she found herself with right now. All her efforts to become everything her father should have been, but wasn't—what was that worth now?

Rosanne. The Fire Emblem. Suddenly, there was no room for a single misstep. The machinations of the group were still a mystery, but there was no denying the damage they'd done in other parts of the world. Before her term as minister, when she'd served as a diplomat, witnessing the wreckage of allied Magvel had almost made her give up on her dream. She'd come so close, and the only thing that had kept her going was the desire to protect her own country from a similar fate.

Of course, she'd thought Ylisse was most at risk from its internal troubles. The thought of the Fire Emblem itself here…she'd considered it, but she never truly expected it to happen—not with the country's ties to Archanea and the military might found there.

She was pulled from her thoughts at the sound of a knock at her office door. She looked up to find her secretary standing in the doorway, looking very much like he was trying to suppress a grimace. That was a worrying sign; Libra was not an easy man to upset.

“Director Walhart has arrived, ma'am,” Libra said.

“Thank you, Libra,” Emmeryn replied. “Please send him in.”

Libra nodded and left. Moments later, she could hear the unmistakable heavy footfalls of the Ylissean Intelligence Bureau's director heading down the hall. Even after years in the bureau, he still kept the steady march of the disciplined soldier he had once been. Emmeryn doubted he had ever tried to alter his step. Walhart was the sort of man who liked to draw attention to himself; everything about him, from his attire to his posture to his gait, was designed to impress and to intimidate. In many ways, he was Emmeryn's opposite, and that was what made him invaluable to her cabinet. Where Emmeryn's solutions failed, Walhart always had an alternative. (She rarely cared for those alternatives, but she respected the man enough to realize their merits.)

“Minister,” he said when he arrived, offering a curt nod in her direction. Emmeryn, who was used to Walhart's decided lack of professional mannerisms (it was why they kept him out of social functions as much as possible), only smiled politely and beckoned him to enter the office. He did so, closing the door behind him before taking a seat in front of her desk.

“Thank you for reporting back so quickly,” she said. “Have you found anything?”

Immediately after her meeting with Virion, Emmeryn had sent out the order to have agents scouring the borders of Rosanne. She wasn't sure what she hoped they would find, but she knew they couldn't afford to waste any time.

“Found anything? Ha! Miraculously, yes, in spite of the fools I've got working under my command,” Walhart responded. He looked her very seriously in the eye and said, “Pheros may be the only competent one of the bunch. I think it's time to bring in some new blood.”

“I understand your frustration, but I can't just reassign people on a whim,” Emmeryn said indulgently. She soldiered on with a smile. “Besides, it can't have been so terrible—you did find something, after all?”

Perhaps Walhart realized he was being brushed off, because he was suddenly sporting a rather shark-like grin. “Oh, yes. I _found_ quite a few things,” he said. “For example, two hours after we landed, I _found_ Agent Cervantes lecturing a local barber on the proper way to trim a mustache.”

_Patience, Emmeryn,_ she told herself. She forced her smile to stay in place and said, “Anything more relevant to our purposes?”

Walhart leaned forward. “Not twenty minutes later, I _found_ Agent Excellus attempting to pay off a group of thugs to sabotage our surveillance equipment. Again.”

_Just smile and nod,_ she reminded herself. _Smile and nod._ “Now, now, we both know he never succeeds,” she said. “And he's the best we've got at extracting information, when it comes to that.”

“Bah. I suppose you'd like what Pheros managed to dig up,” Walhart said, sounding entirely bored. His grin disappeared and he leaned back, barely glancing at Emmeryn as he slipped a sheet of paper onto the desk in front of her. It looked like a photocopy of a well-worn note, decorated with the delicate brushstrokes of foreign characters.

“That writing...Chon'sin?” she asked.

“Sharp eye, minister. Can you read it?” She shook her head. Walhart looked to her, stone-faced, and said, “Those are instructions. Detailed instructions, all about how and when to set off the riots in Rosanne.”

Shocked, Emmeryn could only ask, “Where did Pheros find this?”

“On a taguel, of all things.”

Emmeryn's blood ran cold. A taguel? She hadn't known there were any left, and her thoughts immediately turned to the treatment the last of them had suffered at the hands of her people. She could feel her heart racing, and she dreaded the answer when she asked, “Where is the taguel now?”

Walhart scoffed. “In custody. Unharmed, last I checked.” Before she could interject, he added, “We've got her in an interrogation room at headquarters. None of your handpicked angels would lay a finger on her.” Emmeryn breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the disdain in Walhart's tone.

“Has she said anything? Made any kind of threat?”

“Likes to bare her teeth at anyone who walks in, but otherwise, still as a stone. I'll be sending Excellus—”

“No!” Emmeryn said sternly. “Not yet. The taguel have been through enough. I...I wish to speak with her first.” Walhart raised his brow, but said nothing. Emmeryn continued, “I'll stop by within the hour. You're dismissed.”

Walhart shrugged and rose from his chair to leave.

“Ah, by the way,” he said, turning at the door, “what happened to your old secretary, the Naga priest? I tried asking the woman out there and she got all huffy about it.”

“Priest? You mean Libra? He hasn't gone anywhere. He's been working for me since I entered office,” Emmeryn said, genuinely baffled.

“Then who was the woman at the desk out front?”

 _Oh,_ Emmeryn thought. _Poor Libra._ That was the one thing that always did manage to shake his usually calm demeanor. She would have to invite him to lunch at that café he was so fond of; perhaps that would cheer him up? In the meantime, and in the interest of keeping the peace between her staff, she thought she ought to correct that confusion.

“Director Walhart,” she said, “it is in your best interest and mine that you never bring up this conversation again, especially to the young man at the desk up front.”

“Young man?” He narrowed his eyes. “But she was wearing a dress.”

“Priest's robe, actually.”

“And the long hair?”

“A religious observance, I believe.”

“But her face-”

“Very masculine in the right light, I assure you.”

Walhart grunted. “How about the eyeshadow?”

Emmeryn smiled and shook her head. “He wears it well, though, doesn't he?”

* * *

Mia was minding the front desk when a sleek black car rolled to a stop outside the front door of Greil Investigations. She hoped it was a customer—that car looked expensive, and rich people always had the most interesting jobs. Like that old guy who'd paid top dollar for a single feather off a Heron laguz. Of course, the boss had been majorly creeped out, and in the end they just pulled a feather off some old costume jewelry and called it a day, with Mr. Creeper none the wiser. Mia wondered what sort of job this new guy had come looking for. 

When the driver got out and she caught sight of the shiny metal badge on his lapel, she thought about calling the boss down.

When he walked around the car to open the back door and the Little Empress jumped out, Mia figured she didn't really have a choice. She set off to find Ike. The kid had a weird liking for him. (Then again, it seemed like everyone did. The boss just had that kind of effect on people.)

She headed for the apartment upstairs and knocked on the door. She heard a muffled, “It's unlocked,” from inside and walked in to find Ike sitting at the kitchen table, reading what looked like the morning paper between bouts of stuffing his face with bacon. Mia tried not to salivate at the smell—Ike had a good heart, but unless you were literally starving, it was usually a bad idea to get between him and his food. Maybe that was why he and Soren got on so well—the little guy barely touched his own food, forget about going after somebody else's plate.

“Hey, boss, you got a visitor!” she said cheerfully, trying to distract herself from her sudden hunger. “Looks like the Little Empress has another job for you.”

“Who?” Ike said through a mouthful of food. He put down the paper and swallowed. “Oh, Sanaki?”

“ _Oh, Sanaki_ , he says,” Mia said teasingly, hands on her hips. “Geez boss, you could at least pretend you're surprised by a princess showing up at our doorstep. You'd think visiting royalty is an everyday thing around here or something.”

Ike snorted. “You're not _that_ new, Mia.” Shoveling down the last of his food in one truly impressive motion and then standing up, he added, “If she's here to hire us, she's just like any other customer. Let's go see what she wants.”

When they made it back down to the office, Sanaki was already at the counter, tapping her foot impatiently, while a small woman in a royal guard's uniform stumbled through the door with a pile of bankers boxes. When she noticed Ike, Sanaki scoffed and pointed her nose in the air.

“Top quality service you're running here, Ike,” she said condescendingly. “Do you always leave your office unattended?”

“Not always,” Ike responded easily, ignoring the bait. “Something we can help you with, Sanaki?”

Sanaki smiled and shook her head, raising her hands in an 'I-give-up' gesture. “Some people just can't be taught manners,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “You're supposed to call me Princess Sanaki, you know. Miss Kirsch Altina, at the very least.”

“Got it. So, you have a job for us?”

“You weren't listening at all, were you,” Sanaki accused. At that moment, the guard from before dropped the boxes on the counter with a huff and ran a hand through her hair.

“You sure that's just paper in there? Feels more like a ton of rocks to me,” she quipped. Turning to face Ike, she held out her hand and laughed nervously. “Marcia's the name. Not sure if you remember, but we met before, a few years back. I hired you guys to track down my worthless brother once.”

Ike shook her hand. “A few years ago I was just starting out.” He thought about it for a moment, taking in her bright pink hair. “The army deserter, right? That was one of my first cases. He was being blackmailed by some thugs over his gambling debts.” Ike paused. “We ended up paying some of that off. He still owes us money.”

Marcia's face darkened. “Of course he does,” she muttered. Brightly, she cracked her knuckles and added, “Don't you worry, you'll get everything he owes you. That's a promise.”

“If you're quite done, the paying customer has something to say,” Sanaki interrupted.

 _She's a brat, but a cute one,_ Mia thought. _Getting all huffy because the grown-ups forgot about her._ Ah, well. Mia remembered being a kid once, too.

“C'mon, boss, it's about time we hear her out, isn't it?” she said cheerfully. Sanaki's eyes widened a fraction in surprise, but she quickly collected herself.

“Yes, I should think so,” she said coolly.

_Cute,_ Mia thought. 

“I have two jobs for you, actually,” Sanaki began. “The first is in those boxes. They're filled with files on the Senate, and it seems we have a problem. I want you to go through those files and filter out anything suspicious, connect the dots, and report back to me. Take your time with that, but there is a time frame on the second job—” She pulled a photo out of her pocket and planted it on the counter. “—which involves this man, Senator Oliver Tanas. He'll be in Crimea next week and I need eyes on him at all times.”

“What did he do to catch your attention?” Ike asked, all business now.

“Do your job and you'll find out,” Sanaki replied tersely. “I'm not going to throw around accusations about a high-ranking official. All _you_ need to do is make sure he's on the straight and narrow for as long as he's here.”

“Fine,” Ike answered. _Weird,_ Mia thought. The boss usually wasn't so easy to push around. Then she caught a glimpse of the photo and realized Ike probably already knew Sanaki's suspicions. Senator Oliver Tanas was a former client of Greil Investigations—an eccentric they all remembered. He'd used a different name then, and they'd only met briefly, but Mia was sure of it: this was the weirdo who was looking for Heron feathers. So whatever this Oliver guy was up to, laguz were probably involved. Ike kind of had a complex about that.

By the time she'd worked that out, Sanaki and Ike were done discussing terms, and the princess and her tired bodyguard were on their way out the door.

“Why do you think she came to us?” Mia asked after they'd gone. “I mean, the government's gotta have its own investigators.”

“It doesn't matter,” Ike said. “She paid us for a job, so we'll do the job.”

“It's pretty weird though. What does it mean when a princess is secretly hiring a P.I. to look into stuff like this?”

* * *

“It means the Tellian government is useless, which comes as no great surprise,” Soren said later, when he heard of the princess's visit. He had arrived just after the office closed, as Mia, Boyd, and Rhys were packing up to leave.

At the others' skeptical looks, he sighed. Sometimes he wondered how effective they could possibly be at their jobs if they were so obtuse about these simple matters. “The Little Empress is investigating her own senators,” he explained. “If she could go public, she would. Instead, she came here.” Internally, he thanked any passing deities for his luck at being otherwise occupied that morning. “It means she isn't sure how far the corruption has spread. She doesn't trust her own government.”

“But she trusts me,” Ike said doubtfully. Soren also frequently wondered how Ike remained so oblivious to his own nature. He drew people in; _everyone_ trusted him. But Soren was not going to be the one to tell him that, especially not in a room full of other people.

“Apparently,” was all he said in response.

Ike, thankfully, left it at that. He shrugged and pointed to the back room of the office, then said, “Files are in there when you want to take a look. You're probably the only one who's gonna find what she thinks is in there.”

That was a fair assessment. Ike and Mia would quit out of boredom ten minutes in; Rhys was diligent but had no eye for lies or inconsistencies; and Boyd...well, the less said about Boyd's intelligence, the better. In the worst case scenario, Soren figured, Titania was always unusually pleased to be called in, despite having retired last year at the same time as her husband.

“I'll get started now,” Soren answered. They'd told him about the senator's case as well. If Soren was preoccupied with this job, it meant they wouldn't call him in on the other.

As far as he was concerned, the further he was from the laguz, the better.

* * *

When the humans had come for her, Panne had tried to run. When that hadn't worked, she'd kicked, screamed, even bit at the officers, determined that if the last taguel were to fall, it wouldn't be without a fight. She wouldn't just lay down and die like the others; she wouldn't give the humans that satisfaction. She'd only been a girl, but she'd seen what had happened to the others of her tribe. If she was lucky, it would be a quick execution. If she wasn't, she would have to find a way to end it herself. Panne knew to expect something painful, at the least.

But instead, the humans had pushed her into a black van, driven her to a big white building, and thrown her in a small room with a huge reflective screen in the wall. In the hours she was there, they tried to make her drink something they said was water, but Panne wouldn't touch it. A few different humans walked in, and she growled at them each until they left.

Panne knew what happened to taguel when the humans caught them. This wasn't it.

When a blonde woman in formal robes stepped into the room alone and her first move was to bow her head, hands clenched into fists before her, it only confused Panne more.

“I'm sorry,” were the first words out of the strange woman's mouth. “For everything you've been through. For everything that was done to your people.”

The air tasted of salt, Panne realized. The woman was crying.

“Stop,” she growled. The woman looked up, eyes wide and shimmering wet. “I don't want your pity.”

“Of course,” the woman answered softly. “But I'm sorry, all the same.”

Panne snorted. “Trying to win me over? That's not usually the route you humans take with my kind. Why don't you just try beating the answers you want out of me, like you did to the rest of my brothers and sisters?” Not that it would work, she thought angrily. The humans wouldn't get anything more from the taguel; the last of them would be sure of that.

“You won't come to any harm here, I promise you,” the woman said.

“So you say.”

“You won't, because you won't be staying here.” The woman sat down opposite Panne and offered her hand. “My name is Emmeryn. As the leader of Ylisse, my job is to protect its people, and that includes you.”

Panne looked at her skeptically and made no move to shake her hand. This entire situation was wrong, but Panne wouldn't be thrown off balance. She said, “You didn't protect my warren.”

“No,” Emmeryn said, sounding sad. “I was only a girl at the time.”

“So was I.”

The women sat in silence for a while. Emmeryn made no move to leave, almost appearing lost in thought. Panne, in spite of herself, began to question whether this was a trick. This woman had called herself the leader of Ylisse. There had been a time once, long ago, that the taguel had placed their faith in the Ylissean leaders. That time was long passed, and yet Panne found herself curious all the same. Finally, she broke the silence.

“You're the Exalt, then?” she asked. Emmeryn looked up at her in surprise.

“My, I don't think I've ever heard that title outside of the history books,” Emmeryn answered. “While I am of the Exalt's bloodline, the prime minister position is an elected one. I'm no monarch.”

“Your politics mean little to me,” Panne said testily. Emmeryn picked up on the undercurrent, which Panne was too ashamed to state plainly: _I don't understand._

“Our history books tell us the Exalt was the appointed leader of the country, and the title was passed on from parent to child,” Emmeryn explained. “Wihle my father was also the prime minister once, I didn't inherit my title. The people of this country decided together that I should lead them.”

Like her own warren's tribal chief, Panne thought. But there was no way it worked like that in the human world.

“You said you were from the Exalt's bloodline anyway,” she countered. “You say they chose you. Humans are weak. They'll follow anyone to get what they want.” She leaned forward and snarled. “What did you offer them?”

Emmeryn didn't back down, barely flinched. “Peace,” she said. “I offered them peace.”

“A bald-faced lie,” Panne said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. “I've intimate experience with your people. Without bloodshed, they wouldn't know what to do with themselves.”

“That's not true,” Emmeryn said, unshaken, fixing Panne with a steady gaze. “Our country has done its best to root out the remnants of our darkest times. The people responsible for the griefs caused to you and yours are no more our friend than they are yours. When we manage to find them, we make sure they can never hurt another soul again. The ones who remain will find no allies in this place. There have always been cruel, self-serving, manipulative people. And there have always been those ready to fight, ready to stop them, at any cost. Our past is dark, but the Ylissean people can and will make the future a bright one.”

Emmeryn turned her head away quickly, closing her eyes and drawing her eyebrows together. “I truly believed that,” she said.

Panne said nothing. It was quite the speech, for one given so off-the-cuff. And in the minister's eyes, she had seen something of the fire valued so fiercely in her own kind. But pretty words couldn't begin to heal the wounds humanity had caused her.

“You're a fool for thinking so,” Panne growled, mostly to herself.

Emmeryn looked up, resigned. “I understand your anger,” she said. “That's why, once I've asked my questions, I won't hold you here any longer.” She reached into a messenger bag at her side and pulled out a stack of photos and a plastic bag which contatined a sheet of paper.

“These are photos of Rosanne, where my agents found you,” she said, spreading out pictures of rubble, burnt out husks of buildings, peculiar graffiti. Disgusting but typical human behavior, as far as Panne was concerned. Emmeryn slid the sheet of paper toward Panne. “And this is a note they found there as well.”

Panne leaned over the note, sniffing the air without thinking. She didn't recognize the writing, but it carried her scent, without a doubt. Was this some sort of trick?

“What does it say?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“Can you not read it?” Emmeryn seemed surprised, which Panne found amusing.

“I've spent most of my life running from your kind,” she said. “When do you suppose I should have found the time to learn your strange new system of writing?” Actually somewhat offended, she added, “And what was so wrong with the old one anyway? Fickle humans.”

Cautiously, Emmeryn said, “This isn't standard Ylissean writing. It's from a province at the southern border, called Chon'sin. Panne, our investigators say they found this note on you. Do you not recognize it?”

Panne stiffened. “So this was your aim,” she said coldly. “To frame me? Shall I assume the note says something incriminating?”

“I do believe you were framed, but not by my men,” Emmeryn said. She pointed to one of the photos on the table, of the shield-shaped graffiti. “Have you heard of the Fire Emblem?”

Panne admitted she had not. Emmeryn began to explain, and the tale was so fanciful that Panne might not have believed it—but she knew what humans were capable of. Knowing what they'd done to her people, it wasn't a stretch to believe they could be so awful to their own kind, as well. By the end of Emmeryn's explanation, the taguel's blood was boiling, her teeth clenched in rage.

“I told you before that you could leave as soon as we were done here, and I've said all I have to say,” Emmeryn told her. “I believe with all my heart that you are nothing more than a victim in their schemes. I understand entirely if you wish to leave now, before you can be pulled in any further.”

“But you want my help,” Panne said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, I do.” 

The humans of Ylisse had never been her allies. She was sure they never truly would be. But this Fire Emblem, whatever it was, was something even worse. And they'd tried to drag her down with them.

“Tell me what do to.”

* * *

_Ylisse was going well, but all he could think about was the girl. The girl with the bright blue eyes, clutching her mother's medallion in hand and singing words she couldn't possibly understand the meaning of. The girl was important._

_The others, the ones who'd joined later, said she was a distraction. They told him to forget about her. But the Fire Emblem really only had one purpose, and everything else was a means to that end. The girl was a part of that end, so much more than this chaos._

_Let Ylisse stumble over Rosanne, uncover the seeds of discontent in Valm. Let them stew. He had a higher calling elsewhere._

_The girl must die._


	3. 1-2

Hood pulled down to shadow her face, Micaiah slid into the crowd forming in front of the Nevassan courthouse. The turnout was even greater than she'd expected, and she recognized a number of faces of working-class folk who were anything but fond of the Senate right now. There were also a surprising number of guards, but she didn't think they'd do anything rash. Even if they did, it would only serve to bolster the public's unhappiness.

She stood on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the other Brigade members with no luck. There were simply too many people. No matter; she was confident they would play their roles perfectly. ...Well, mostly confident. Confident enough.

Nolan would be up front with the press, with a recorder, camera, and notebook. Sothe was probably still out in town, rounding up any last-minute participants. Edward and Leonardo were doubtless in the crowd just like her, passing out more fliers and getting everyone on the same page. Tormod, on the other hand, was something of a wild card. He'd taken off that morning to call on his family, so all that remained was to see whether the laguz would make an appearance.

At that moment, Numida Grann walked out of the courthouse to the edge of its white stone steps and strode up to the podium planted there, like a king about to address his loyal subjects. _But he won't find any here,_ Micaiah thought viciously.

“Thank you all for coming out here today,” Numida said, though he didn't look very thankful at all. He looked annoyed and bored, and he made no effort to hide it in his voice. The man was a PR nightmare. While Micaiah would have preferred literally anyone have his seat on the Senate, she had to be grateful that if it were going to be occupied by someone so awful, at least Numida was obvious about it—it made it that much easier to turn public opinion against him. Meanwhile, he continued, “We're here to discuss the removal of Captain Jarod Halber from his position leading the Daein Oversight Committee, following a Senate-driven investigation.” He glared into the assembled crowd of reporters and added, “We will allow questions, as long as they remain on topic.”

Numida went on to list the investigation results, which mostly consisted of minor abuses of power, or, as the official line went, “making comments which could possibly be construed as threats by a populace already vulnerable to exploitation.”

Micaiah found it funny how they left out all the other, more insidious things he'd done—like having police beat protesters with batons, or seizing property from people with outspoken anti-Senate sentiment. The assembled press began to ask their questions, and Micaiah glumly wondered whether the mainstream outlets were even aware of that. All of their questions at first seemed to be dull clarifications of some of Numida's earlier statements, until the Brigade's plan finally came into play.

“Have you read the report yourself?” Aha, there was Nolan. He always came through, tough as nails. “It says one of those supposed comments was to tell the owner of a bar that, if he continued to allow protesters to organize meetings there, he would personally see to it that his liquor license was revoked. Do you think there was any way to construe that comment other than as a threat?”

“Commander Jarod has been instrumental in cracking down on illegal, disruptive attempts at protest in the district,” Numida replied. “The investigation saw no evidence of interrupting with any legal forms of activism. Furthermore, he insists that particular exchange never happened, and we must also consider that some of the alleged victims had personal reasons to want to harm his reputation.”

“But you still found the reports credible enough to remove him from office? Isn't that a contradiction?”

“I don't see how,” Numida responded brusquely. “Next question.”

It was a few pointed questions and dodged answers later when another reporter jumped in, saying, “Our paper has looked into the captain's job history before being assigned here, and we found that he's been written up for similar behavior before, while he was part of the police force. In multiple departments, in fact. How was he assigned to the Daein committee in the first place? As the Senate liaison here, weren't you required to approve his transfer yourself?”

“I personally oversaw Captain Jarod's placement here, and nothing I witnessed indicated that he would be anything but good for Daein.”

There! Finally, there was Nolan's perfect chance, and Micaiah knew he wouldn't miss it.

“So all of this happened under your command,” Nolan said. “Coupled with your own most recent scandal, there are people calling for your impeachment again. What's your response to that?”

Numida's face turned red with anger, and he sputtered, “I'll remind you to stay on topic!”

That was when the posters went up and the chanting began, huge parts of the crowd moving together.

They called out as one, “Dignity for Daein!” Mixed chants fell in calling for the removal of Numida, for freedom from a Senate Daein held next to no power in. Deep voices fell in from behind her, and Micaiah's heart soared as she saw an entire group of local laguz join in, bolstering the crowd. A smile split her face as she watched this perfect picture of her people, from all different walks of life, united in their commitment to each other, to their right to freedom. _This is Daein at its most beautiful,_ she thought, ecstatic.

Then the first screams rang out.

From the back of the crowd, Micaiah couldn't see what happened. But suddenly, the wave of people began to shift, until finally she realized people were running, arms covering their heads, coughing from tear gas. She saw a man fall, struck by a riot officer's baton.

She held up one arm to cover her suddenly stinging eyes when a hand grabbed hers and pulled, away from the crowd. Sothe had found her in it all, somehow.

It happened so suddenly, Micaiah barely managed to escape in the chaos, and only because of Sothe's direction. Running down an empty alley, she spared one last glance at the crowd of her countrymen, who had been so brave, now running scared or curled up on the ground, their dignity beaten out of them once again.

Unfair. It was unfair. All of this was so unfair! It was only when Sothe stopped and suddenly pulled her close, whispering that it would be alright, that she realized she was crying.

“It won't,” she cried helplessly, hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, face pressed against his chest. She was suddenly exhausted. “It won't be alright!”

Sothe held her as she cried. It was all that he could do.

* * *

There was a fax from a number Ike didn't recognize sitting on the front desk when he went down to the office Monday morning. A quick glance confirmed the light in the back room was on, so he figured Soren was probably the one who took the fax from the machine and left it out for him.

It was a schedule, of sorts. A timetable of whens and wheres, with events ranging from public speeches to casual outings to formal dinners. A neat note in the corner read: _Eyes open. -S.K.A._

Well, that was suitably cryptic coming from the kid, he guessed. Every once in a while, Ike was struck with confusion that no one ever just said what they meant. He scratched his head as he walked to the back room, where he found Soren, like he figured he would. He was sitting at the desk there, halfway through one of the file boxes Sanaki had dropped off a few days earlier. He looked deeply involved in whatever he was doing, but he must have noticed Ike coming in because he didn't show any sign of surprise when he suddenly started talking.

“Any ideas on this one?” Ike asked, holding out the fax. Soren stilled his hands and looked up.

“That's Oliver's schedule this week,” he said. “The Empress wants eyes on him at all times. If you're aiming for subtlety, I'd advise against sending Mia or Boyd.”

“Which leaves me, you, and Rhys,” Ike said, amused. “Boyd will be fine, as long as the work's not too low-key. He and I can handle the public appearances and Rhys is good with most of the rest. Only trouble is this police awards dinner next week. Those are usually invite-only.”

Ike looked down at his friend, who had suddenly gone completely still in his chair, looking for all the world like he was expecting a punch to the face. It seemed kind of dramatic, but this once, Ike could empathize. All the same, they had a job to do.

“Can you still get into those things?” he asked. Soren let out a long breath. His shoulders seemed to sag a little and he waited a long moment before he answered.

“Are you quite sure you want to put me in an enclosed space with several easily offended bureaucrats? I'm sure Elincia would be more than happy to let _you_ in, instead.”

“You're the one with the most experience in that area. Besides, I'd stick out like a sore thumb,” Ike said bluntly. At Soren's skeptical look, he added, “I'm not _completely_ oblivious.”

Soren gave him a pointed look, which Ike ignored. “Is that a yes on getting in?” he asked.

“Yes,” Soren grumbled, and then went back to sorting his papers. Figuring he wouldn't get much else out of him, Ike went back to the main office and unlocked the front door. It was almost 9 a.m.; the others would be arriving soon. He went over the senator's schedule while he waited for his employees to filter in.

Oliver Tanas was apparently a very busy man. His week was filled with social gatherings all around Melior with all sorts of people. This was baffling to Ike, whose very brief acquaintance with Oliver made it hard for him to believe anyone was lining up for the chance to spend time with the man. He decided there could be only one explanation: the people he was meeting knew they were seeing a senator, but they hadn't been told exactly which one. 

He didn't have to think about it much longer as the others began to arrive for work. The first, as always, was Rhys, who had never been late in his entire career. Like all of the full-time employees at Greil Investigations, Rhys had his investigator's license, but he was usually the one who manned the desk at the office. Ike was glad to give him fieldwork for the newest case. Rhys never complained, but sitting at the desk looked pretty boring. No one could actually enjoy that, right?

No one but Rhys, apparently.

“It's not that I mind,” Rhys said when Ike explained the job, “but are you sure I'm the best person for it? I'm not the most, ah...assertive person on the team.”

Ike furrowed his brow. “We don't need assertive. We just need you to keep an eye out.”

Rhys stared longingly at the front desk, which was cause for concern. Ike decided Rhys was definitely getting out of the office for a while.

“Who will answer the phone while I'm out?” Rhys asked mournfully.

That, Ike had put some thought into. He had no patience for the phone, and he was usually working on something else anyway. Boyd was the same way. Soren wasn't _allowed_ to answer the phone any more.

“Mia can cover it,” Ike said. _Probably,_ he didn't add. Rhys still looked unsure when he finally agreed to the job, but he did agree. With that, Greil Investigations had a full schedule of people tailing Senator Oliver Tanas morning, noon, and night. Whatever he was doing, they weren't going to miss it.

* * *

Loyalty was a loaded word to Pheros, and no one could deny she was loyal to her boss. It wasn't just about obeying orders or trusting her superior's judgment; it was about deep respect and a devotion to the man himself. Walhart was unlike anyone else she'd ever known, resolute and strong, and she'd follow him to the ends of the earth if it pleased him, because he had more than earned her loyalty.

It didn't mean she always _enjoyed_ the tasks he set out for her.

“And what was it like, to be in the city during the riots?” Pheros asked, for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. She was seated at the bar of a nightclub just outside Rosanne, one of the busier operations after the chaos just over the provincial border. Dressed well out of regulation clothes, blonde hair spilling over one shoulder, she was doing her best to charm the idiots who walked in. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, they were proving to be overwhelmingly useless to her.

“Oh, you know, it was quite hectic,” the man next to her said, attempting nonchalance and failing. He was a terribly average-looking person, both in features and in style, which she figured would contribute to his willingness to share personal details with a pretty stranger like herself.

“I'm sure,” she said. “How do you think a riot like that starts? The news is very vague. It just says the feds are still investigating.” That much was true. The minister had explicitly ordered the news about the Emblem be kept under wraps, and what information _had_ been leaked to the public was considered pretty suspect.

“It's the government's fault we're in this mess to begin with,” the man spat out. His vitriol lent some definition to his face, almost made him stand out as something more than a hapless stranger to her. Pheros nodded encouragingly, playing along, and he continued, “I'll tell you something: people in Rosanne have been unhappy for a long time. If this isn't a wake-up call to the elite in Ylisstol, nothing will be! It's just a shame it had to happen like that...” He deflated somewhat and muttered, “Half the people running in the streets like madmen, the other half hidden in their homes like frightened children. Incredible, to see how quickly we changed!”

“And where were you?” Pheros asked innocently, twirling the ends of her hair around one finger, looking up coyly from beneath her lashes. “Were you with the madmen, or the cowards?”

That seemed to snap him out of his melancholy. “We all make mistakes, and I'm afraid I was caught up in the frenzy outside,” he said with a strange bravado, looking not at all sorry about it. “Though I certainly wasn't involved in any theft, let alone the violence! In fact, I tried to stop some men who...”

He kept speaking, but Pheros had tuned him out. It had taken an obnoxious amount of time, but she'd finally found someone who was out in the streets during the attack—or one who admitted to it, anyway. Now she only had to get him out of the club, and her job was done. Thank Naga, she was running out of patience. If she'd been ordered by anyone other than Walhart...

Fortunately, the fool was all too happy to follow her out the door, and he barely blinked twice at the dark sedan parked just outside. She knocked on the tinted black window once, and the door opened and shut, quick as lightning. The poor man didn't even know what had happened until he had already been pulled into the back seat. Pheros climbed in the driver's seat after, bored, and looked in the rearview mirror at her catch, who was staring at Excellus beside him with considerable worry.

“Oh, I like this one,” her colleague said gleefully, fingers clasped together in delight. It drew attention to his sharp, painted nails—the man could be so vain. Pheros sighed as she started the car.

“Just do your job, like the director said,” she ordered, and he pouted. It was a ridiculous face on an already ridiculous-looking man. Cervantes might have laughed. Pheros only doubled down on her stern expression.

“Yes, yes,” Excellus muttered sadly. He turned to his new passenger and grinned. “Now, let's talk about the Fire Emblem, shall we?”

The man went pale. His eyes darted to the door handle, as if he were considering rolling out. (It was a terrible idea, but it wouldn't have been the first time it had happened—the child-lock was on for that very reason.) Alas, he was stuck, and he must have realized it, too. _Too bad,_ Pheros thought as she drove down the blackened streets. _It's only going to get worse from here._

* * *

Her first encounter with the Fire Emblem was one that Mist would not—rather, could not—remember. After all, she was never made aware they had met in the first place.

It passed so quickly she could barely recall it later on. She was walking home from school one afternoon when she was suddenly bumped into from behind, lightly and just enough to make her stumble a bit. In the next moment, a man in a dark hoodie passed by, muttering an apology. The only view she had of him was his back as he walked away. She figured it was an honest mistake and thought nothing more of it.

It wasn't until later in the day that she noticed anything amiss, and even then not until it was pointed out to her. She had been in her room doing homework for most of the afternoon and only headed to the kitchen in the evening to help her step-mother prepare dinner.

Titania was laying out vegetables on a cutting board at the counter (watching her cut them was something else; she did it with a finesse Mist was starting to think she'd never be able to emulate). She looked up from her work briefly and smiled when Mist walked in.

“Evening,” Titania greeted as Mist walked over to the sink to wash her hands. “How was your day?”

“Pretty boring,” Mist answered as she rinsed her hands. When she'd dried them as well, she moved over to stand next to Titania. “What are we making tonight?”

“Chicken and carrot stew. Do you want to be in charge of the chicken or the carrots?”

“I'll stick with the carrots, thanks,” Mist answered, scrunching up her nose. “Let me watch you make the chicken, though, and I can try it next time.”

“Of course.” At that, Titania turned to face her fully, and a look of open surprise came across her face. After a moment, she said, “You're not wearing Elena's medallion.”

“I'm not?” Mist said aloud, taken aback. She brought her hand up to where the medallion should have been laying against her chest and found nothing. At once, she began to panic. She always wore that necklace, and it wasn't exactly light enough to just slip off. On the other hand, it definitely wasn't heavy enough to break the chain that held it. It should have been immensely difficult to lose, but in her distress, Mist didn't consider any alternative. She only berated herself for her assumed carelessness.

“Relax, I'm sure you just misplaced it,” Titania tried to console her. It had little effect—as far as Mist was concerned, this was a disaster.

Dinner was abandoned for the time being, and Titania helped her search the house for it, to no avail. But all that made a new worry surface in Mist.

“Do you think dad will notice?” she asked Titania, wracked with sudden guilt. He always looked sort of sad when his attention was drawn to the trinket, but he'd also been the one to agree she should have it in the first place, and he was the one who'd warned her to always keep it safe.

Titania looked shocked for a moment, then gently amused.

“You know he wouldn't get angry over something like that,” she admonished. “Besides, we'll find it yet. Check your locker at school tomorrow, or the lost and found. Did you have gym today? Maybe you misplaced it while you were changing.”

“Maybe,” Mist said, unconvinced but hopeful. She hadn't noticed before, but now that she was aware of it, the medallion's absence was palpable. And it felt silly, but... “Dad's not going to be happy,” Mist said, tears starting to well up. “He might not be angry, but he's definitely not going to be happy...”

“Oh, Mist,” Titania said, pulling her in for a hug. “He'll understand.”

* * *

When Greil did return home and found them like that, he was, of course, concerned. It turned to relief when he realized what had upset Mist so badly.

“It's just a necklace,” Greil said to his sobbing daughter. Titania gave him a pointed look which suggested that had been a particularly stupid thing to say.

“But it was mom's!” Mist protested, crying openly now. That was fair, Greil supposed, feeling a pang of shame for upsetting her more. He'd never understood Elena's attachment to the old thing, but for Mist, it was a keepsake from her mother. He sighed and scratched the back of his head, trying to find the right words to console her.

“Listen,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know it was important to you, but mistakes happen. And your mother would hate to see you crying like this for her.”

Mist looked up at him through her tears. “It's all I have left of her,” she said quietly, and for a moment Greil imagined he could feel her hurt as clear as if it were his own. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and smiled anyway.

“That's not true,” he said. “I know it was important to you, but it was just a necklace—it was just a thing. All the memories and feelings that made it important are still right here, in you.”

“I know,” Mist sniffled, rubbing her eyes. With an undignified snort, she looked up and held her breath a moment, then let it out slowly. “I'm done crying now,” she announced shakily. Before either Greil or Titania could say another word, Mist smiled bravely and said she would get back to making dinner.

When she'd left, Titania turned and, with a slightly guilty look on her face, asked, “Is there anywhere we could order another one, in case she can't find it? Would that be wrong? She just looks so crushed about it...”

“I don't know,” Greil admitted. “Elena always had it with her. I think it might have been passed down in her family or something like that.”

“Oh. Dear. Mist doesn't know that, does she?”

“If she did, I don't know anything I said would've stopped her crying.” Greil shook his head. “Let's just hope it turns up.”

* * *

Micaiah hadn't found the courage to go back to the hideout for three days after the disastrous protest in Nevassa. The core group had gotten out okay, she'd found out that much, but she hadn't spoken to them since. Part of the reason she stayed away was fear that her friends wouldn't be there; the other part was shame that she'd failed them so miserably. So for the rest of the week, she stayed confined to her room in her family's vacation home. The bed was extremely comfy. That made her feel worse.

Finally, though, she couldn't justify hiding away any longer, so she managed to pull herself out of bed and into her red hood, and she set off for the hideout. She didn't know what she was expecting—for the place to have been abandoned, maybe, or for the others to have left a note that they were done with all this foolishness. She wasn't prepared for what she found.

Her friends were all there, looking no worse for the wear. They looked up at her when she walked in, unconcerned. The liveliest reaction she got was a cheerful wave from Edward, followed by a bland “hey” from Leonardo. Nolan nodded lightly, then went back to the book he was reading. Tormod ignored her entirely, apparently caught up with some puzzle box. The only one missing was Sothe, who walked in just minutes later. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her there, but the surprise passed quickly, and then he was back to business as usual.

“We've got some reports for you to look over, when you get the chance,” he said, like it was any other day.

Micaiah could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Of course they were all still here. They loved Daein just as much as she did; of course they wouldn't have abandoned her.

“Thank you,” she choked out, trying to collect herself. “For...for everything. For still being here after...what happened.”

“Hell of a thing,” Nolan chimed in from his seat against the wall. “But a win is a win.”

He tossed a rolled up newspaper to her, and she unfurled it first in confusion, then in awe. It was a national paper based out of Crimea, and the cover headline read _'Police brutality at Daein protest'_. The rest of the article was a detailed, accurate account of what had happened, including a brutally honest assessment of Daein's police force and the oversight committee, Jarod included. Micaiah simply stared at it for a while in shock. This was the first time since they'd started their operation that they'd caught the attention of anyone outside the Nevassa region. She looked up at Nolan, who was grinning proudly.

“I thought some old friends of mine might be interested in the story,” he explained. “Our own publication does well enough with Nevassans, but a paper like that reaches the whole country.”

“This is amazing,” Micaiah said. Then she winced and added, “Not so much the police brutality, but the response at least...”

“It won't happen again,” Sothe said calmly. “With the public watching, they'll be careful from now on. Consider it a win.”

“Right,” Micaiah said. “I can do that.”

At that moment, they were interrupted by a knock at the hideout's front door, which wasn't really unusual...except that everyone who knew where it was located was already inside. Micaiah cast a suspicious glance about the faces in the room, but even Tormod had looked up in confusion.

“Was there anything else I missed?” she asked carefully. Ah, there it was. Leonardo over in his corner was looking a little guilty, and that really did surprise her. He was the last person she'd expect to let a secret slip. 

“Are we expecting company?” she asked calmly, though inside, she was pleading, _Not another Tormod._

“Ah, well, you see,” Leonardo started, hands clasped behind his back awkwardly. He refused to meet her gaze, shuffling in place until it became clear he was tongue-tied. Finally, Edward sighed and clapped him on the back, sending him stumbling.

“They're good people,” Edward said cheerfully, “so don't be too mad, okay?”

“I'm not mad!” Micaiah protested. She _was_ thinking about making a list of guidelines for the Dawn Brigade to follow (Item #1: The secret hideout is to remain secret). Meanwhile, the knocking continued, and she told Leonardo he may as well let his guest in, so he left to do so. While he was gone, Micaiah pulled her hood back over her face, just in case. You could never be too cautious, she figured.

Leonardo returned with an odd pair: a gentle-looking woman in priest's robes and a bored, slouching man, both of whom straightened slightly as they walked into the room. Leonardo led them in, then gestured to Micaiah before he spoke.

“Laura, Aran, this is...” he hesitated for a moment, then decided on, “...the Maiden of Dawn, the leader you were asking about.”

Micaiah flushed red at the embarrassing moniker. It was something she'd used as an online handle back when she first started the Dawn Brigade, and she certainly hadn't expected it to stick. Said out loud, it just sounded...silly. She coughed and held out her hand, shaking first Laura's and then Aran's.

“You can call me Micaiah,” she said, trying not to notice how Laura's eyes widened. It wasn't exactly a common name, she reasoned, but it wasn't like the girl had gotten a good look at her face. She had no reason to believe Micaiah was anything other than some common stranger.

“It's nice to meet you,” Laura said pleasantly. “We met Leonardo after the protest a few days ago, and he told us a little about your group.”

“You were there?” Micaiah asked, surprised.

“Ah, not quite,” Laura said hesitantly. Aran pointedly looked away. “A good number of people who escaped the police blockade took shelter in my order's church.”

“So you're a priestess! And you, Aran?”

“...I was there,” he mumbled. Laura looked at him nervously. When he didn't elaborate, it was Leonardo who spoke up.

“He's fresh out of the academy, new to the force,” he explained. “Or he was. He quit right after what happened.”

“I see,” Micaiah said, trying to sound calm, glad that she'd kept her hood on.

“Wasn't just me, either,” Aran said, still looking away. “A lot of the guys I graduated with are looking for work outside the county. Some say they're done with the force altogether.”

“And you?” Finally, he looked at her. She got the feeling he'd be staring her straight in the eyes if it were possible. When he spoke, his voice came out clear and strong.

“I'm here, aren't I?”

“You two...you realize what we do, right?” Micaiah asked. “We don't make a habit of breaking any laws, but you saw what happened the other day. Our organization isn't always the safest place to be, but we're for Daein, no matter the cost. If you want to be a part of it, you need to know that. Do you understand? Are you prepared for that?”

“This is my home,” Laura said, with more confidence than she had shown before. “I want to help.”

“It's not right, what's happening,” Aran muttered. “And as long as Laura's here, I'm in, too.”

Micaiah sighed in relief, then reached up to pull her hood back. She smiled brightly at the two newest members of the Dawn Brigade.

“Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Laura, Aran. Let's get to work.”

* * *

_Yesterday, he had almost thrown everything away. The song stuck in his head, gumming the gears and pushing out all other thought. He had to make it stop! He had no choice!_

_He'd almost left the bunker, delirious with the thought of what he might do when he got his hands on the girl, the thought of how her eyes would dim as he choked the life out of her, how her final gasps would soothe the scar left by her careless song. His hands were shaking and he was laughing freely as he climbed the stairs._

_He was stopped only by the grace of his partner's timely arrival, pushing him back below the earth, almost frantic._

_“What is the meaning of this?” the other asked, face a mix of disgust and fear._

_“I'll end it all,” he laughed. “That's all I've got to do!”_

_But his partner blocked the exit, steadfast, until the desire had left him._

_Returned to his senses, he realized just what he would have ended. All this work could have been lost in a single fit of madness._

_“It's getting worse,” the other said, almost sympathetic, but mostly annoyed._

_“It's the girl,” he tried to explain. “She's the only one I can't...” He trailed off, and his partner sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder._

_“Of course,” his partner said. “You think I don't feel the same way? I remember as well as you the trouble her mother caused us.”_

_He stiffened under the touch at his shoulder and growled lowly, “Something must be done.”_

_His partner removed his hand and turned away. “I agree. Our plans elsewhere have succeeded well enough. It's time to move forward.”_

_“Then you've found a way in?”_

_His partner smirked. “Compared to Ylisse, Tellius will be nothing.”_


	4. 1-3

Rhys liked his job.

He hadn't always. Early on, when Titania had first brought him on to the team, he'd literally worried himself sick over his own abilities, wondering whether he could live up to her expectations, constantly afraid he'd let her down. She'd been doing him something of a favor, honestly, when she gave him work. He'd lost his last job after an extended illness and he'd desperately needed money, so when she and Greil happened by and offered him a place at Greil Investigations, he didn't think twice before accepting.

Actually working in a private investigator's office was another thing entirely. It didn't take long to realize he didn't quite have the stomach for fieldwork, which alternated between strict avoidance and direct confrontation. When it came to the former, it was just his luck that the only time he really stood out in a crowd was when he was trying to blend in. With the latter...well, he'd never so much as tried the latter, but he doubted he'd find much success there.

Fortunately, he was actually quite good at the office's desk-work, coordinating jobs and managing clients. More than once, a customer had told him point-blank that he was easier to talk to than any of the other employees. That was fair, Rhys figured. Greil's investigators were a wonderful lot, but he certainly understood why the average person might be a little intimidated at first glance.

So it had taken a while, but he'd settled into his place at the company, and it was like a second home to him now. He really did like his job, generally speaking.

But this _particular_ assignment? This, he did not especially care for.

Rhys was packed into a group with at least two dozen other people—tourists, from the look of them— on a guided tour of Melior's botanical gardens. The otherwise dazzling array of colors was lost on him today, though. It was his third day tailing the visiting senator, whose schedule was full of visits like this. Following him was shaping up to be the sort of task that would have bored most of the other investigators half to sleep. Not Rhys—on the contrary, he was positively on edge. It was hard to relax when his job was on his mind. It was a little upsetting, really; in any other situation, Rhys would have loved to have been in a place like this.

 _Or maybe not,_ he thought as he sneezed for the umpteenth time that morning. His eyes were starting to tear up a little, too. At least he hadn't broken out in rashes; these symptoms were really quite mild. As the guide went on about a pair of bright blue flowers before them, Rhys stood on his tiptoes and peered over the top of the crowd, looking for a glimpse of a shiny bald head.

Panic set in immediately when he couldn't find the senator there. He backed out of the crowd, muttering apologies as he went, and from outside the shuffling blob he darted this way and that, praying he'd catch sight of his target. He had almost given up hope when he caught sight of a long white official's robe leaving the room. With relief, Rhys hurried to follow—only to be cut off by the group moving once again.

He tried and failed to sidestep the oncoming crowd or simply to rush in front of them. Before he could make a move, he was back in the middle of it all, the tour guide droning on again. Once more, and with even greater difficulty, he pushed his way out of the group. When he had, he rushed over to the door Oliver had gone through, searched and found the room there empty, and moved on to the next. He did the same in that room, and the one after that, until he found himself back at the entrance of the gardens, exhausted, with no sign of the senator anywhere.

Rhys leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. He'd lost him.

* * *

It was one o'clock on a Saturday and Oscar was enjoying lunch at his favorite diner when he quite accidentally happened upon his old employer's most recent high-profile target. A few days ago, when he'd last met with his brothers in person, Boyd had gone on and on about Greil Investigations and the visiting senator. He seemed very proud, if a little miffed over not playing a bigger role in the job.

That he should probably call Boyd was Oscar's first thought when Oliver walked through the door unescorted. But he'd left his phone in the car, and stepping out now would be kind of obvious, wouldn't it? On second thought, he decided, maybe it would be better to stay put and listen.

At the counter, the senator ordered himself a large and varied lunch, most of which he slathered in dressings and mismatched condiments that made Oscar's inner gourmet wince. The people behind the counter were looking a little green over it too, he noticed sympathetically. Apparently satisfied with his monstrosity of a lunch, the senator plopped himself down in a booth and pulled out his cell phone. Oscar very carefully slid back in his seat and tilted his head in that direction, trying to listen in without making his intentions obvious. The half of the conversation he caught after the pleasantries was definitely suspicious, and he wondered what exactly the man was suspected of. Boyd hadn't been sure himself; that was one of the things he'd complained about when they spoke.

“Yes, well, I ran into some unexpected difficulty getting away, but of course I managed!” Oliver was mumbling into his phone in between bites of his sandwich. “No, no more delays, let's handle this now. ...Of course I can, what a ridiculous question! You uphold _your_ end of the bargain, and I'll take care of mine.”

Oscar tensed as the senator wound down his conversation. There was something obviously wrong going on here, and he wasn't comfortable just leaving this one be. He prepared to quietly follow the other man out the door, if need be.

That was the plan, anyway, until a very boisterous presence decided to make himself known.

“Lazing about in the middle of the afternoon, and when there's so much work to be done? That's hardly the sort of behavior befitting a proud member of the Crimean police force, let alone my rival!”

Oscar sighed and resigned himself to fate. If six months as partners wasn't a long enough time for Kieran to stop calling Oscar his rival, he wasn't sure it would ever happen. And how focused on the senator had Oscar been, to miss someone as loud as Kieran coming through the door? As it were...

“We have weekends off,” Oscar explained patiently. Unless Kieran was on call or putting in for overtime again, which wouldn't exactly surprise him. Oscar, for one, delighted in the benefits of being one of the landed members of Melior's police force, one of which was that weekends were the turf of the fresh-blood patrol officers.

“You'll never get ahead with that attitude,” Kieran said, nonetheless plopping himself down on the chair opposite Oscar, apparently having nothing better to do himself. He suddenly became wary. “Unless...” He lowered his voice. “Are you undercover? Has the captain sent you out keep an eye on someone?”

Kieran's eyes darted around the booths in the diner suspiciously. Leave it his partner to guess at the perfect truth for all the wrong reasons.

“It's nothing like that,” Oscar said with a placating smile. His cover was probably blown the minute the redhead walked through the door, or at the very least when he announced their shared profession to the diner at large. He chanced a glance back at the senator's booth. The man had gone stock-still, white as a sheet, head turned to the window. He held his phone in a vice-grip, and he was starting to sweat. After a moment, he stood up and walked stiffly toward the door. 

He tripped and fell as he passed Oscar's table, and without thinking, Oscar reached down to help him up. The senator took his hand (his palm was unsurprisingly clammy) and got to his feet, mumbling his thanks, and then he hurried out the door.

Oscar wondered whether it was worth even trying to follow him at this point, and how he could get away from Kieran if he chose to do so. He looked over at his partner, and he registered the change in the man's countenance with surprise. Kieran's eyes were narrowed, his mouth curved into a thin frown, and he looked genuinely disgusted. It was an oddly serious look, especially given its wearer.

“A man like that has no business here,” Kieran said contemptuously.

“A man like what?” Oscar prodded, curious. For all his bluster, Kieran could be quite sharp about certain things. He also had an odd habit of picking up bits of gossip the rest of them somehow missed.

“Ha! That's right, you weren't around back when he first came up,” Kieran mused, eyes starting to brighten again. “That was just after we graduated from the academy, and you'd run home like a frightened pup with your tail between your legs—with no regard for the great and noble organization you'd left behind! I always knew you were crafty, but I never took you for a low-down coward—”

Well, that was just unnecessary. “Like I've said, I didn't leave without reason. I had to go home to look after my brother,” Oscar interrupted. Kieran snorted and muttered something about excuses. Oscar sighed, an action he was becoming very familiar with. “...But please, go on.”

“Well, he must have done something to upset the chief, because she was ready to launch a full investigation into some trouble or other he'd caused in the capital, but it was all shut down before it could go anywhere. Politics, or some-such. Go figure! Say, are the burgers here any good? I haven't eaten lunch yet—”

“What was she going to charge him with?”

Kieran shrugged. He'd picked up a menu off the table and appeared to be reading it quite intently, apparently having lost any interest in the previous conversation. Oscar figured that was probably all he knew about it, anyway.

“The burgers are fine, but the turkey melt is better,” he offered as he stood up. “If you're staying, watch my food. I need to run out to my car for a minute.”

Kieran happily agreed, and Oscar went out to the parking lot. The senator was long gone, but he'd expected that. He went to his car and grabbed his phone, then shot off a quick text to Boyd to let him know what had happened. Oliver had definitely been up to something. He only hoped it wasn't as serious as it looked.

* * *

Reyson waited at the checkpoint for more than an hour before he finally became fed up with the whole ruse. He was beyond irritated when he got on the radio and spat, “I'm now quite certain our _friend_ won't be joining us today.” Even if a code-word was necessary for security purposes, Reyson wasn't sure why they'd chosen 'friend'. It was probably Naesala's idea of a joke.

He heard a frustrated groan over the radio, and then Tibarn answered, “Got it, we're heading to you now.” Which meant Reyson had at least fifteen minutes to kill. Tibarn and Naesala had left him at a mostly deserted manor in the Crimean countryside with the intention of drawing out their target, who had surprised them all by not jumping at the bait. It was worrisome, but Reyson had a hard time believing the senator had suddenly gained some measure of intelligence. No, where Oliver Tanas was concerned, dumb luck was far more likely.

In any case, the only other bodies on the grounds right now were a handful of beorc bodyguards. Oliver was an idiot, but they assumed even he would be suspicious at the sight of a half dozen Hawk and Raven laguz wandering about. Only a few years ago, Reyson would have bristled at even the thought of being left alone with these beorc. Now, his annoyance was more because, after this failure, he knew he would have to attempt the ruse again. He was also very slightly relieved that he wouldn't have to meet with the senator today, but he realized he was only putting off the inevitable.

The collective bird tribes had been trying to nail Oliver Tanas for laguz trafficking for years now. Granted, their target was less the senator and more whoever had been supplying him, but Reyson wouldn't say no to taking the pig down as well. Especially after the way the creep had drooled over his sister the last time he was in Serenes—that diplomatic mission had actually reversed the cause of beorc-laguz relations by a good decade or so, and they hadn't been in great standing to begin with.

They were so sure they'd gotten it right this time, too! When it came to the supplier, they had a few suspects, but only one had been tipped off as to this location. If the senator had shown up, it would have confirmed their suspicions and given them enough grounds to move ahead with arresting that person under tribal law. Every other avenue of information-gathering had failed, and if they tried to take him in now, Begnion would just claim custody and have him released again.

Reyson's foul mood hadn't let up at all by the time Tibarn and Naesala arrived outside the manor. He greeted them coldly, arms crossed.

“This has been quite the impressive waste of time,” he complained as they approached. “Well done, Kilvas.”

“In my defense, I really did think this was the one,” Naesala answered noncommittally, inspecting his nails in boredom. He looked up and smirked. “Besides, it's not like you were out here very long, right? Appreciate the sights! You Herons are all about nature, isn't that right?”

 _Nothing more natural than my fist in your face,_ Reyson wanted to retort, but he'd tried that once, and it hadn't gone well. He settled instead for, “Just like you crows are all about money. I suppose you're the only one profiting today, Naesala. Was that intentional, or just a bonus for you?”

“Knock it off, both of you,” Tibarn instructed. He turned to Naesala and said, “Don't forget, you're only here as long as you're useful, because we sure as hell haven't forgotten the mess you got us into with Goldoa last year. If you're going to gather information for us, at least make sure it's correct.” To Reyson, more kindly, he added, “We'll get him next time, so hang in there.”

Reyson grunted his assent and let his shoulders relax a little. He'd known both of these men for most of his life, and they were close, even if they didn't always see eye to eye. But a situation like this was frustrating. In the time the three of them had worked this case, every little misstep managed to raise his hackles. He wasn't exactly the picture of Heron serenity these days. (His brother called such behavior 'unbecoming'; his sister found it highly entertaining.)

“So we got the wrong man,” Reyson muttered, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed and tilted his head back, looked to the sky and tried to calm down. “Where do we go from here?”

“I'm no so sure we _were_ wrong,” Naesala offered. At his companions' glares, he quickly backtracked. “Have a little faith! I wasn't just pulling names out of a hat; Izuka is good for this. He's a slimy little bastard, but he's clever. Maybe he caught wind of our plan somehow.”

“What do you mean, 'somehow'?” Tibarn growled. “It was _your_ plan! Did you have some kind of security breach? When were you planning on telling the rest of us?”

“Whenever was most convenient for him, I'm sure,” Reyson muttered.

“Let's all calm down, now; it's nothing like that,” Naesala said quickly, hands held up in a placating gesture. “My, but the two of you are quick to anger! No, there weren't any issues on my end, but this just doesn't sit right with me. Give me another chance to arrange a meeting. If he doesn't show next time, we'll do things your way.”

Naesala and Tibarn glared at each other for a long moment, and then the latter broke away to look at Reyson pointedly. “It's your call,” Tibarn said, sounding displeased. “You're the one in the most danger from all this.”

“Playing bait; yes, I know,” Reyson said with growing irritation. He closed his eyes and tried to collect himself. _Think peaceful thoughts,_ he told himself. These days, of course, 'peaceful thoughts' amounted less to quiet introspection and more to violent fantasies about punching all of his problems right in the face (perhaps Rafiel was right and he was, in fact, spending too much time with the Hawk tribe) but it had the same net effect, in the end.

When he was sure he could speak evenly, he opened his eyes, folded his hands neatly in front of him, and said, “We'll do it again, as many times as we have to, if that's what it takes to catch the pig. But if Izuka doesn't come through next time, we move on to the next name on the list.”

“Fair enough,” Naesala agreed.

“Don't get it wrong again,” Tibarn warned, but the taunt lacked any real anger. Reyson could sense the tension dying down again, and it left him feeling more tired than anything else. He meant what he'd said, but he sincerely hoped the next time would be the last—and not just for his own sake.

* * *

Micaiah was certain the only thing worse than a Begnion raid was a Begnion dinner party – and even if this one was being held in Daein, the guest list confirmed it was a Begnion party, at least in spirit. She hated the damnable things; dressing up and frolicking had never been her forte. Worse yet, they meant she had to play nice with the Senate and pretend she didn't think they were all despicable. Her grandmother, incidentally, had made it very clear that debating politics with _anyone_ during these parties was strictly off-limits. Sometimes Micaiah worried her grandmother knew her too well...and then she remembered the Dawn Brigade and thanked the goddess that wasn't true.

Today, she was running late. She and the rest of the group had been involved in a street clean-up earlier that morning, and she'd more or less run straight to the banquet hall from there. The high-end restaurant she found herself at wasn't one she recognized, but it looked just ritzy enough that Begnion's elite might deign to grace its halls. Micaiah double-checked the address her grandmother had given her once more before running up to the building's front door, where she was stopped by a security guard.

“The hall is reserved for a private function tonight, ma'am,” he said. “You'll want to go 'round to the other side if you're looking to get into the restaurant.”

She was almost offended, before she realized she was running around in what was basically a souped-up tracksuit. She realized she'd completely forgotten to change, which meant she could expect to be on th receiving end of one of her grandmother's ever-effective disappointed looks...assuming she ever actually got inside.

“Micaiah Kirsch Altina,” she announced herself, preparing to move past the guard. He shot his arm out to stop her.

“Yea, and I'm the lost prince of Goldoa,” he said, disbelieving. “You got any proof of that?”

Seriously? Micaiah almost laughed in disbelief—this guy didn't recognize the face of the Tellian princess? She almost told him off for it, but the thought of what her grandmother would say stopped her. She sighed and began rifling through her bag, searching for her ID. By the goddess, she knew she had it in here somewhere... She shuffled her things around, fingers grasping seemingly everything but the card she was looking for...gum, chapstick, firecrackers (and really, Tormod, how did those even get in there?)...a-ha! She triumphantly pulled out...a bus pass.

The security guard raised his eyebrows. Micaiah looked away in shame.

At the same time, she heard a gruff “ahem” from behind her. She turned around and wished she had a drink so she could do a spit-take, because yes, that was definitely His Landed Monstrosity, Ashnard, governor of Daein, standing right in front of her, positioned at the perfect height for her to deliver a swift kick to the balls and it was so, so tempting.

Instead, she smiled and said hello.

Ashnard grunted in her direction and, with a wave of his hand, brushed past the security guard. The guard didn't even look offended, which was frustrating. Of course, she supposed it was easier for a security guard to tell off a teenage girl than a large man with a rumored predilection for no-holds-barred beatdowns. Still, she did need to get inside.

“Oh, Governor Ashnard!” she called, plastering the most convincing smile she could onto her face. The oaf turned around and smirked. She repeated a mantra in her mind: _Don't spit in his face, don't spit in his face, don't spit in his face._

“Well?” he said.

“Ah, this is more than a little embarrassing, but I just came from a street clean-up and I suppose I'm a bit of a mess, because the guard doesn't recognize me. Could you vouch for me?” She smiled sweetly, but she was crying on the inside.

Ashnard turned to the poor guard and snarled. “Really? You don't recognize your own princess? Why, if you treated either of _my_ children like that, you'd be out of a job faster than you could apologize for it. I suppose fools like you are lucky the queen isn't quite so...particular.”

Oh, there was an insult toward her grandmother in there somewhere, Micaiah was sure of it. Meanwhile, the guard was stammering out an endless stream of apologies. As Ashnard stomped off to do whatever it was egomaniacs did during a party, Micaiah slipped by the guard. As she passed him, she patted him on the arm and whispered, “I am honestly sorry about that.”

Really, she was a _people's_ princess.

Her brief feeling of satisfaction was dashed the moment she peeked around the corner into the reception room and saw her grandmother there, front and center. Exactly how much trouble would she be in for this? Would she get the look that said _I'm silently judging you,_ or the look that said _I'm only silently judging you until we're alone, at which point I will progress to very loudly judging you_? She didn't have long to wonder, though, because she felt a brief tap on her shoulder and when she turned around, her bodyguard was standing there, smiling fondly and holding what looked like a paper shopping bag.

“Perhaps you'd like a change of clothes, your highness?” Zelgius suggested.

“You're a lifesaver,” she said with no small amount of wonder.

“That is my job, yes.” From anyone else, it might have been a joke. From Zelgius? There was a not-insignificant chance he was serious. Micaiah accepted the proffered goods eagerly. She looked inside the bag to find one of her favorite dresses and a pair of shoes—both of which she was pretty sure had been in her closet this morning, but she didn't have it in her to question how or why Zelgius had acquired them. Instead, she muttered another quick thanks and hurried off to the bathroom to change.

By the time she made her way back to the reception in the proper attire, people were starting to gather at their tables for dinner. Micaiah went obediently to her grandmother's side, where she was greeted with a warm smile, which she happily returned. They made their way to their table, where they were joined by Senator Hetzel, probably the least offensive of that rank, and Governor Ashnard and his family, certainly the worst of theirs. Granted, Micaiah hadn't personally dealt with any of the family outside of Ashnard himself, but she had a hard time believing they were any better than him. His wife had willingly married him, for one thing.

Once she was seated, Micaiah focused on the table in front of her and made a concentrated effort not to engage her tablemates. _Just smile and eat_ , she reminded herself, _and soon it will all be over._ She kept her cool all through dinner...at least until the senator, in some magnificent lapse of judgment, decided to bring up politics.

“Dreadful situation in Daein these days,” Hetzel said, sounding miserable. Micaiah froze, and from the corner of her eye, she caught her grandmother's strained smile pointed in her direction. It was a warning, there was no mistaking that.

“Indeed,” Misaha said evenly. She seemed to be weighing her next words when the senator continued, oblivious to the murky waters he tread.

“I don't see why they need to make such a fuss. Mistakes were made, but now they're going after every government employee like rabid dogs.” Hetzel shook his head. “And it's a shame, the way those muckraking journalists are painting things out to be, too.”

Across the table, Ashnard actually snorted. Grinning wildly, he leaned over to whisper something in his wife's ear, which brought a similarly dark smile to her own face. Micaiah opened her mouth, then stopped when her grandmother's heel came down on her foot, just hard enough to get her attention. Clenching her fists, she bit her tongue.

“The people are divided,” Misaha observed, voice as clear and unshaken as ever. “It's a problem we all need to address, government and citizens both, if we're going to move forward as a country.” She smiled serenely and concluded, “But those are issues better addressed in a formal meeting than at a casual dinner, don't you agree?”

“Oh...of course, forgive me,” Hetzel said. Ashnard only smirked.

“You know, we never had these problems when I was in charge,” he gloated. “Care for some pointers?”

Misaha shot him a warning look, which he ignored. Hetzel's shoulders stiffened uncomfortably and he looked between the governor and the queen as if it would help him to find a response that wouldn't offend either of them. No answer was forthcoming, and in the meantime, Ashnard continued, “I suppose not? Well done, in any case. I've never seen the people this incensed. You and your friends in the Senate have done in three years what I couldn't accomplish in twenty!”

“We haven't—that is to say—” Hetzel stammered out helplessly. Showing more backbone than he had all night, he managed, “You were hardly a responsible leader yourself, you know! Just look at the mess you caused!”

“And yet the people still want me in office,” Ashnard said with a laugh. 

“Only because they don't know any better!”

“Is that so? Tell me more, senator, I'd love to hear it!”

Finally, Micaiah could take no more. “Daein deserves better than either of you,” she said coldly, head held high. “We're talking about real people here, not pawns in some sort of game. You should both be ashamed of yourselves!”

Hetzel actually did look guilty, and she felt a swell of both disappointment and pity for him. Ashnard, of course, was himself, which was to say, as charming as ever. Certain he was about to say something that would only upset her further, Micaiah stood up from her chair. Mindful of her grandmother, she said, “I apologize for my outburst...I think perhaps I need some air.”

With that, she turned on her heel and did her best not to actually stomp out of the reception hall like an angry child (though that was more or less how she felt at the moment). She didn't even notice the curly-haired young man who stood up and followed after her until they were already outside.

“Excuse me...Micaiah?”

She jumped at the voice and spun around to see Ashnard's son standing behind her, hands held behind his back and a flush across his face. At her quick movement, he startled as well, then looked doubly embarrassed for it.

“Can I help you?” she asked, annoyed that she hadn't noticed him before (though, looking him over, she couldn't help but think that probably happened a lot. Something about him just _screamed_ wallflower).

“Ah, my name is Pelleas. I'm—”

“I know who you are,” she said shortly. At his stricken look, she made a conscious effort to soften her expression and added, “You're the governor's son, right? I'm sorry for speaking rashly. Was there something you needed?”

He hesitated a moment, shuffling in place, before he seemed to summon the courage to speak his mind. “The way you spoke about Daein in there...I just wanted to say, the people are really lucky to have you looking out for them.”

She snorted. “Well, someone ought to, and your esteemed father certainly isn't. And I haven't seen _you_ doing anything helpful either.”

By Ashunera, the boy looked so completely cowed she almost felt bad for him. She was about to apologize (maybe, sort of) when he looked up, eyes steeled.

“No, y-you're right,” he said. “I've just been doing whatever my father says, even when I know it's not right. But...I want to help, like you do!”

Before she could commend the man on his sudden change in attitude, Pelleas dropped his gaze back to the floor and shuffled his feet.

“So, uh...can you show me how?”

* * *

_The efforts humans made to destroy themselves were incredible. It almost made him wonder, sometimes, whether their input would be necessary at all, if it were just a means to an end. It was more than that, of course; it was about the heedless joy, the satisfaction, the knowledge of the cause as well as the effect. But if their only goal was to spur humanity's downfall, they wouldn't have any work at all. Time would take care of that, all on its own._

_The latest news out of Tellius broke a dim peace through the dark cloud of his mind, left him brighter, more cognizant than he'd been in weeks. He could see, now, the chance his partner spoke of—could see it clear as day, how it would all progress, so cleanly._

_He stared at the package in his hands, this little thing worth so, so much. It was time to move once more._


	5. 1-4

Tonight, Soren found himself questioning, not for the first time, his own judgment. It was devastatingly clear that he had a significant, Ike-shaped hole in his usually rational mind, because he was certainly not suited for a situation like this. Tucked away in the corner of a garishly decorated reception hall, surrounded by smiling politicians, he had to keep reminding himself not to sneer. Fortunately, most of the people in attendance overlooked him entirely, and of those who did notice or recognize him, the great majority knew enough about either himself or his family to maintain a generous distance. Daein was an unpopular subject in Crimea most days; this crowd was particularly disturbed by recent happenings there.

This was the annual dinner to honor Melior's police force. Thus far, no mention had been made of their Nevassan counterpart just across the Daein border, and he doubted they would say anything at all, especially with both Oliver Tanas and a member of the royal family present. He wondered whether the officers actually appreciated the presence of the visiting senator or if they would have preferred to make a statement, then decided it didn't matter.

Soren was only here to keep an eye on Oliver, dedicated as the company was to ensuring its jobs were completed to the fullest. Barring Rhys's mishap yesterday, Oliver had been simple enough to tail. Whatever inclinations he was suspected of harboring, they apparently weren't strong enough motivators to veer him off his usual routine. Even tonight, he was content to sit at his table and eat rather than wander the room to socialize. Soren wasn't complaining; it meant he could stay in one place, too.

He recognized a number of faces in the crowd, though of course he made no effort to approach anyone. Most were generally unimportant politicians who happened to need some free press, or dime-a-dozen officers whose names he wouldn't be able to recall even if he had met them before. 

Then there was the Little Empress herself and her uncle, the minister. Soren had spoken to her briefly before the event, just to inform her of the arrangements the company had made. Sanaki, at least, seemed terribly amused by the prospect and was only disappointed none of the others would be in attendance. He'd pointed out that would defeat the purpose of covert surveillance, to which she acquiesced but maintained it would have made for great entertainment. (Soren had witnessed his coworkers' behavior at office parties. It was not his idea of entertainment.) Sanaki's comments gave him the impression she enjoyed these events as much as he had at her age, though she was certainly better at hiding it, judging by her demeanor tonight. She flitted between guests with a disarming smile, which they seemed to love. It made Soren shudder; Sanaki had an unsettling shrewdness to her, considering her age—and she was equally gifted at masking it.

The niece of Melior's chief of police was there as well, flanked by her twin subordinates and mingling among the crowd with the skill of any career politician. She caught sight of Soren and seemed to debate for a moment whether she should say something. Soren supposed it was more out of allegiance to Ike than any fondness for himself; he certainly felt no affection toward her. Her curiosity or her manners must have won out in the end, because she approached him with a carefully placed smile.

“Soren,” Elincia said, “it's unusual to see you at these dinners. Are you here alone?”

Was she asking after his family, or after Ike? He supposed it depended on whether she asking for politeness or for personal interest. The answer was the same either way, and he had no desire to prolong the conversation by discovering which.

“Yes,” he answered. She stared a moment. He stared back.

“What brings you out tonight?” she tried again.

“A request from my mother. Was there something you wanted?”

“Only to say hello, I suppose. It was a...pleasure to see you again,” Elincia said uncomfortably. As she walked away, it occurred to Soren that Ike would probably have been disappointed by the way he had handled that. Ike, at least, seemed to think highly of Elincia, which Soren couldn't understand.

Well before she had taken command of her precinct in Melior, Elincia had been a rather hapless young detective with a bizarre tendency to pick up cases that intersected with Greil Investigations. She had actually hired them on a few occasions, when she needed the extra reach their operation provided. These days, she had little use for the company, but she seemed to still hold them in high regard.

When Elincia returned to her entourage, Soren was surprised to see another face he recognized. Even surrounded by dozens of other smiling people, Oscar stood out. If he followed his boss's suit and decided to greet Soren, the latter realized with irritation that he wouldn't be quite so easy to get rid of.

That, of course, was exactly what the other man chose to do. He walked over with his usual bright smile and easygoing gait.

“Boyd mentioned your name, but I didn't think it was true,” Oscar observed. “And I thought I was the only one who didn't fit in here.”

“I didn't realize they invited the rank-and-file,” Soren said bluntly. (He chose not to mention that he, at least, had come by his invitation honestly. He preferred not to think about his father.) Oscar didn't so much as wince, only shrugged and smiled the same as always.

“I seem to have fallen in with the right crowd,” he answered, actually looking a little annoyed about it. He glanced over to where one of Elincia's usual lackeys was on the receiving end of what looked like a very spirited, very one-sided conversation with a red-haired man.

“Had I known you were here, I would have stayed home,” Soren muttered.

“Boyd told you then?”

“About your run-in? Yes.”

“And?”

Soren looked at him sidelong. “And you no longer work for us.”

“Fair enough,” Oscar said with a shrug. “How are things at Greil's these days?”

“Ask your brother.”

“Have you heard anything from Shinon or Gatrie lately?”

Realizing Oscar wouldn't be put off, Soren grudgingly relented. “Not recently. Shinon continues to insist he can manage his own branch in Daein. Gatrie, I assume, is wasting his time and everyone else's trying to break ground in Begnion.”

“I thought they'd have come around by now,” Oscar said with a frown.

“They were easy enough to replace,” Soren said. “Mia works twice as hard and complains half as much.” She was about as loud as either of them as well, but they could have done worse, he supposed.

“I'm glad to hear that, at least. What else has happened since I left?”

“Ask your brother,” Soren repeated.

Oscar sighed. “If you'd rather sulk over here alone—”

“I would.”

“—then I'll just be going. Tell Ike I said hello.”

With that, he left, and Soren was relieved for it. He didn't bear any particular ill will against Oscar (at least, no more than he did anyone else), but it didn't mean he had any intention of being friendly with the man, either. Besides, he wasn't here to socialize, goddess forbid. His only job tonight was to keep an eye on Oliver and make sure he didn't try to take off unseen. Presently, the man was continuing to gorge himself on fancy entrees. It was boring and slightly nauseating, but that was to be expected.

After about two more hours of the same, Soren almost regretted having sent Oscar away. But just as the dinner was winding down to a close and he was ready to write the whole thing off as one massive, irritating waste of time, Oliver abruptly got up from his chair and hurried out of the room. Soren was quick to follow, and when he caught up with the man in the hall outside, the senator was having an animated conversation on his cell phone. Soren seemed to have caught only the tail-end before the call was ended.

“That's a relief,” Oliver was saying. “You just can't find them anymore in Begnion, not since the—” He stopped suddenly and frowned, a faint blush creeping up on his already ruddy face. “No, no, of course I know—that, is, I wouldn't—! Oh, never mind. Yes, yes, tomorrow at four. I'll be there.”

He ended the call and put his cell phone back into his pocket, cast a quick glance about the hall, and, seeing no one, nodded happily and walked off. Around the corner, Soren cursed under his breath. Whether he liked it or not, he knew the senator's schedule by heart now, and there was nothing at four o'clock tomorrow. He couldn't very well ignore the phone call, whatever it was about. 

But of course this had happened once already, and it was just Soren's luck that the first person to have noticed was in attendance tonight. Fortunately, Oscar was still in the hall, and he was easy enough to find, keeping company with Elincia and her rather conspicuous groupies. Soren ignored the rest of them as he walked over to the table, thankful that Oscar saw him before he had to make an effort to get his attention.

“A word, please,” Soren said simply, nodding toward the door. To his credit, Oscar smiled and followed without comment.

“What is it?” he asked when they were back in the hallway and out of earshot.

“The senator. You told Boyd you overheard him having an unusual phone conversation.”

“It sounded like he was arranging for some sort of meeting,” Oscar explained. “To be honest, it wasn't really the words that were the problem; it was his behavior. He was, er, attempting to whisper, I think—he wasn't very good at it. He seemed agitated.”

“So you didn't hear him say anything specific?”

“No. But, ah...” Oscar trailed off, scratching the back of his neck and looking back to the dining hall. When he turned to Soren again, there was a concerned look on his face. “I heard Elincia tried to open an investigation on him once. I don't know what it was about, but I trust her judgment. If she thought he was up to something, I don't doubt it's true.”

“She'd hardly be the first to notice,” Soren scoffed. At Oscar's confused look, he clarified, “He hired us once before. He seems to have some...unusual proclivities where the laguz are concerned.”

Or as Mia put it, “bro has a massive wing kink,” but Soren was hardly going to repeat that. Besides, by Oscar's discomfort, he'd pieced it together on his own.

“You don't think he's involved in any trafficking? That's serious enough for anyone, let alone a senator.”

“Perhaps,” Soren muttered. Either way, they'd probably have an answer at four o'clock tomorrow.

“Listen,” Oscar said. “Be careful, all of you. And as soon as you have some kind of proof, call me or someone else on the force. If things get dangerous, you guys shouldn't be out there alone and unarmed.”

Though he doubted it would come to that, Soren agreed to the suggestion, if only to keep Oscar from nagging the rest of the company over it. Oliver hadn't been subtle in his previous exploits, but he was still running free. Soren had a suspicion the senator was lining the pockets of someone in the local police force; he just wasn't sure who. (Not Elincia or her cronies, at least—the lot of them were pure as the driven snow, irritating as it was.)

At the very least, it shouldn't be hard to track him tomorrow. They already knew where he was supposed to be in the morning, so in theory, it should be as simple as tailing him after his last scheduled appearance. Then, he should lead them right to whatever it was he was trying to conceal.

But for now, Soren just wanted to get away from this dinner and back home, where at least it would be quiet. He decided he was definitely giving himself overtime pay for this headache.

* * *

After that big article in the national paper, Micaiah had been full of energy and hope for the Dawn Brigade and its mission. Finally, people were starting to pay attention to all the corruption in Daein! Finally, people were starting to listen!

But by the end of the week, the protest was old hat, and no one outside Nevassa had a word to say about it anymore. As quickly as it started, the revolution was rolling back to square one. As the weeks went by and the Dawn Brigade returned to its usual functions, and nothing seemed to change at all, she slowly fell back into a nervous worry. She was starting to feel like they would never make any inroads.

Later, she would wonder whether her frustration played a part in her decision when an ultimatum arrived at her doorstep.

It was literally on her doorstep, in fact, in the form of a sealed envelope left in front of the hideout one night. She was the one to discover it in the morning, and she opened it with little interest, not realizing how it had gotten there. She just assumed one of the Brigade had dropped it on their way out. But it wasn't sealed, so she didn't think twice about opening it.

It contained a disposable phone and a single sheet of paper, printed with neat, computer-generated text. She sat down at the table, new find in hand. The first page began, “To the organization calling itself the Dawn Brigade...” Micaiah almost stopped reading right there—their name wasn't exactly a secret, but it was virtually unknown outside of Nevassa, and even within the city, it wasn't well-known. This had been left by someone who not only knew about them, but had somehow sussed out their hideout as well, and that was dangerous. If they'd discovered her identity, or the others'...

But that was what convinced her to keep going, in the end, because she figured she had to know one way or another what kind of situation they'd landed themselves in. She read through the rest of the page, disbelief increasing by the line.

These were instructions, a plan to make a greater impact in one action than the Dawn Brigade had ever dreamed of, than they ever would have thought possible. But if they did exactly what was outlined here...it could work, Micaiah realized, feeling almost sick with excitement. This could really work.

Or it could be trap, she thought at once, a way to get them all into one place and then expose them. The problem was that, whether this mysterious benefactor was on their side or against them, they already knew too much. Micaiah dropped the pages on the table and slumped back against her chair. At least the others weren't around; that gave her time to decide what to do next.

But even then, if she were honest, she knew: she would have done anything for Daein.

* * *

Cordelia hadn't really wanted to come into work today. It was a thought she'd been entertaining since going to bed the night before, and the light of day didn't make it any better. As she leashed Aurora and got the dog into the car, she sighed and tried to mentally prepare for the day ahead. She hadn't even considered not showing up, of course, or calling in sick, or anything of the sort—she took pride in her job, and just as much in her punctuality. But it had occurred to her, as she made her way to the station, that this would not be a good day.

Captain Phila had warned them yesterday that Director Walhart of the Intelligence Bureau would be making a visit to the K-9 unit at Ylisstol. In her limited experiences with the man, Cordelia had found him...'trying' was one word for it. Rough around the edges? It was difficult to politely state the trouble with Walhart's brand of command. She often wondered at the zeal with which his agents answered his directions. If he were anything like her own captain, she might understand, but...

She was considering these things when she arrived at the station just before ten o'clock. Distracted, she barely noticed Sumia greeting her as she walked through the precinct doors. It was only when the clumsy woman almost fell on top of her and Aurora barked out a quick warning that Cordelia was startled back to reality.

“Ah, sorry, sorry!” Sumia cried. She caught herself against the wall at the last moment and fell back to an upright position with a scarlet blush across her face. Her dog, Belfire, sat calmly by her side. Cordelia supposed he was used to it by now.

“No worries,” Cordelia reassured her. “How long have you been here? You're not usually so early for your shift.”

“Oh!” Sumia said, hands clasped behind her back and smiling nervously. She was more on edge than usual, that was clear—though Cordelia couldn't blame her. “I wanted to be a little early today to prepare for the meeting.”

“Prepare? Was there something I missed?” Cordelia asked, starting to feel a little panicked herself. She was confident the captain hadn't given any special instructions to look out for. If she'd missed something, she just knew she'd be kicking herself for it later.

“Nothing like that, no. I just wanted to be ready, er, mentally speaking,” Sumia said, wringing her hands nervously. “Has the captain said anything to you about the meeting? What it's for or anything?”

“Not to me,” Cordelia said, feeling relieved. “Have you heard anything?”

“Sully says they're being called in too.” Sully was a detective under Captain Frederick in the 1st precinct, and a friend of Sumia's, she recalled. But if that were the case—

“Chrom will be there?!” Cordelia blurted out. Sumia stopped and nodded, and the two of them stood there awkwardly for a long moment. Cordelia cleared her throat, willing away the heat rising to her face. “A-anyway, will any of the others from the 1st be in attendance, do you know?”

“I'm not sure,” Sumia said. “Why?”

“Just curious.” The captain hadn't mentioned that yesterday. It made sense, Cordelia supposed. The 1st was the largest station house in the city, and her own home at the 4th precinct was the only other that even came close. But if the 1st was being called in, would any others be as well? Whatever Walhart had to say, it must have been important, to call so many of them in on such short notice.

She didn't have to wonder about it for very long, because within the hour, the director himself had appeared, and so had Captain Frederick and a handful of his men, including Sully and Chrom. There were three other men with them, though she only vaguely recognized their faces. The muscly blond was an old friend of Chrom's, but she couldn't place either of the brunettes. Sumia positively lit up when she saw the group of them, and it clearly took considerable restraint for her not to rush over to greet them as they walked in. Cordelia was almost relieved they wouldn't have a chance to speak before the meeting. She always seemed to become awkward and tongue-tied around Chrom, and it was mortifying to think of it happening at work. Captain Phila would never let her hear the end of it.

They all filed into the station's conference room and seated themselves around its large table. The captains sat across from one another at one end of the table. Cordelia naturally sat down beside Phila, and Sumia took the next seat over. Frederick's officers mimicked the action on the other side, first Chrom, then two of the men she didn't recognize. Sully shrugged and plopped down next to Sumia. Cordelia wondered for a moment what had happened to the last man, before she realized quite suddenly that he was seated between Frederick and Chrom, directly across from her. She jumped when she noticed; she hadn't even seen him sit down. He smiled politely at her, and she looked away when she realized she was staring.

The movement allowed her to see out the open conference room door, where Walhart was standing with his back to them. He seemed to make a motion as if he were beckoning someone inside, but Cordelia only caught sight of a head of brown hair from behind his form. It might not have mattered if she'd glimpsed any more than that: she wasn't sure she would have trusted her eyes anyway.

When Walhart finally walked into the room, he was trailed by an honest-to-goodness taguel—or at least, that's what Cordelia assumed the woman was. She'd never seen a taguel in person before, but this woman seemed to fit the bill. Markings lined her face, and tufts of fur stuck out in patches along her skin. Long ears seemed to be braided into that brown hair she'd seen walking in. The taguel caught her staring and glared, and Cordelia stiffened and redirected her gaze to the director instead.

At the front of the room, Walhart opened his mouth as if to speak, then stopped abruptly and turned to favor the captains before him with a disdainful glare.

“This is your best?” he said. “Really?”

“Hey—!” The interjection came from the blond-haired man in Frederick's unit. Frederick glared at him and he slouched back in his seat miserably but kept his mouth shut.

“You asked for men we trusted,” Frederick said calmly.

“And you brought the minister's brother,” Walhart replied. “Of course. I'm only surprised the sister isn't here as well—remarkable restraint on your part, captain.”

Well, that was just as silly as it was offensive, Cordelia thought. Was Lissa even old enough to join the force? Last she'd seen her, the girl looked barely past middle school. But Frederick didn't refute the point, only turned his head away evasively. Chrom looked embarrassed on his behalf.

“This is our best, director,” Captain Phila affirmed, trying to steer the conversation back on track. The taguel endured all of this with the same unchanging, disaffected expression. Walhart shook his head before continuing.

“Hmph. Then I'll get to the point. This—” He waved his hand toward the taguel, “—is Panne. She's one of yours now, Phila, by the minister's orders.”

Captain Phila nodded easily, and Cordelia realized she must have known about the situation beforehand, likely told by Emmeryn herself. Walhart barreled on, pointing to the door.

“As far as anyone out there knows, Panne doesn't exist. While she's busy not existing, you lot are her protection and her go-between in the city. The captains have already been informed as to the specifics, so I won't waste my time on that. Phila!”

“Yessir,” the captain answered immediately, then stood and addressed the others at the table. “Panne will be operating under my command, and those orders will be disclosed on a need-to-know basis. Captain Frederick and I will be in constant communication to ensure she is being watched at all times. Sumia, Cordelia: for the duration of this operation, you will serve as a protective detail for Panne as long as she's within our district. Elsewhere, Frederick's men will supervise her. I expect you all to keep each other informed of your progress.”

Sumia let out a startled yelp, but Cordelia maintained her composure as the captains continued to speak. It brought on a whole host of questions for her, starting with necessity. What sort of case was this, such that two separate precincts were required? Some sort of drug bust, maybe? If so, on how large a scale, if the feds were involved? But there was no mistaking the captain's wording or her tone of voice: asking questions in this case was a no-go.

Frederick took the lead then, addressing his own team with instructions on keeping the taguel safe and in their sights at all times. As he spoke, Cordelia looked to her left and found Sumia staring right back with a worried expression.

They didn't get a chance to speak until after the meeting had closed and the director, the taguel, and the men from the 1st had left, and Captain Phila had retreated to her office. They quietly headed out back to the kennels to collect their partners. Once they were safely outside, they immediately began talking.

“That was a real taguel, right?” Sumia asked excitedly. “Oh, what am I saying? Of course she was, I don't see how the director could fake that. But where did she come from, do you think? What kind of job could she be helping the prime minister with?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Cordelia admitted. She made a concentrated effort to stay calm. She got the feeling that if she let herself, she would all too easily be caught up in Sumia's exuberance (and she felt certain it wouldn't be so attractive on her). “It's...odd, isn't it? That we're the only ones from our precinct who were called in?”

“Well, I guess so. But I'm kind of happy about it, you know?”

“I figured,” Cordelia said with an indulgent smile. “You have a lot of friends in the 1st, don't you?”

“Yes! You know, I went to school with Sully, and a few of us were even in the same class at the academy. It's going to be so nice to work with them all again.” She turned to Cordelia with a bright smile and added, “I think you'll fit in just fine, too!”

“I look forward to it,” Cordelia answered. In truth, she hadn't formed much of an impression of any of the visitors during the brief time she'd met them, and what little she knew of their careers didn't impress her much. But of course she wasn't going to badmouth Sumia's friends in front her. Besides, she hadn't thought much of Sumia at their first meeting, either, and look how that turned out—she was a precious friend now.

The honest truth was that Cordelia wasn't thinking about the others at all, really. Her thoughts were torn between worry over whatever situation had brought on Panne, and a very distinct effort not to think about the fact that she would be working in close quarters with the object of her teenage affections. Right now, if she could get through this whole thing without dying of embarrassment, she'd consider herself lucky.

* * *

Crouched behind a low wall and hidden from the streetlights, Micaiah held her breath and counted to ten. Even with her hood pulled up, she could feel the cool breeze of the night brush past her face. It made her huddle down closer to the ground, arms clutched together above her knees. It was silent all around her, as it should be in the dead of the night, but the lack of noise still made her skin crawl.

There were cameras installed above the streetlamps. It made sense: this was a very well-off district, so they could afford the best protection. Still, Micaiah hadn't known about the cameras. Even if she'd somehow come up with this idea on her own, she and all her friends would have been caught in its execution. But the person who'd left her those instructions had accounted for everything, apparently, so she knew about the cameras, about the regular patrol schedule, even about which storefronts had their own private cameras pointed at the street (which was most of them). And she knew how to avoid them all, too—or at least she hoped she did. If not...well, there was a reason she'd decided to do this alone. If she was caught, she knew she could trust her friends to carry on the good fight.

The tiny click of an alarm on her phone alerted her to move, and she crept along the wall, peered out quickly, and darted into the nearest alley, sure to keep her hood and her back turned toward the cameras. There wasn't any sort of surveillance in the alley, according to the anonymous intel. Now that she was here, she was supposed to find a hiding spot and stay out of sight.

There was a decent spot between a dumpster and the wooden fence at the back of the alley. She cringed as she knelt down and crawled between it, none too fond of the smell or the slightly slimy-feeling ground...but this was for Daein! She could handle this!

Once she was in place, her fingers gripped the phone in her dress pocket, nervously clenching and letting go. The instructions in the note had been clear—“You'll want to record this. And keep the ringer on silent, if you know what's good for you.”

Not long after, she heard heavy footsteps approach. She leaned back in her hiding spot, further into the shadows, heart pounding. _I maybe didn't think this through_ , she thought, then immediately pushed it away. Now was not the time for doubt. Now was the time for action! ...And hiding was technically an action, after all.

Meanwhile, the footsteps stopped, sounding perilously close, and a voice said, “Nice of you to show up. You're late.” It was a man, for sure, though Micaiah had no way to gauge his age, beyond 'adult'.

“Don't push me,” a second voice said, and she was startled enough to fall back against the wall. She had only heard one set of footsteps approaching, but there were definitely two men speaking. “I'm here anyway, so get on with it.”

And the second surprise: she knew that grating voice, because she'd been subjected to sound clips of it through the local news for weeks. She almost wanted to roll her eyes for how predictable it was. But it begged the question: what was Senator Numida doing with a stranger in a Nevassa alley in the dead of night? Actually, she decided, that was just stereotypically evil enough to fit into what she assumed was his regular schedule.

Too curious to let it go, she crept forward slowly and peeked her head out past the dumpster. Yes, that was most definitely the senator, ridiculous mustache and all. But she couldn't make out any details on the other party, who wore an over-sized hoodie that shadowed most of his face in the already dim light. She was just able to make out a pursed frown against pale skin when the stranger jerked his head to the side slightly, and she pulled back. She had a feeling she'd just been spotted—had that been a warning? The conversation continued.

“You know what we want. Thirty thousand in the account by tomorrow at noon, unless you want all your ties to Daein's recent police epidemic exposed.”

“I've already paid you!”

“And now we require more. More than your career is at stake here. What we have on you could put you behind bars for the rest of your short, sad life.”

The senator cursed loudly and mumbled something Micaiah couldn't make out, then said more clearly, “Fine. You'll get your money.”

They spoke a few minutes longer, too quietly for her to hear the exact words. Then at last, she heard those heavy footfalls moving away, quicker this time, and after a minute she felt safe enough to crawl out of her hiding spot. The alley was empty, of course. She made her way back out to the main streets, taking the same care as before not to be spotted by any of the cameras. The phone felt heavy in her pocket the entire time.

When she was clear of the district, she trudged back home, exhausted. Half an hour after the incident in the alley, she fell into bed still fully clothed. A sudden chime from the phone reminded her of its presence, and she lifted it to see an incoming call from a private number. She answered it and after a few seconds of silence, a voice began to speak. The man from earlier hadn't said much, but she thought his voice had been softer, somehow, than whoever was speaking now.

“I trust you found what you were looking for,” the stranger said shortly, and Micaiah tensed with irritation.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“A friend,” the voice answered. “Someone like you, who wants to help the people of Daein.”

“Is that so?” she said, feeling fed up with the whole song-and-dance. “Because it sounds like you're more interested in helping yourself. Thirty thousand?”

There was a pause, and then the voice spoke again.

“Please don't misunderstand. I have no use for the money, but rest assured, it's nothing more than pocket change to our friend the senator. How do you suppose he would have reacted if I only called him out there to tell him I knew of his misdeeds? As long as he thinks I'm some lowlife extortionist, he'll have no suspicion that a more powerful group is working behind the scenes.”

“So you're just putting on an act, to keep his guard down,” Micaiah repeated, disbelieving. All the same, it made a sort of convoluted sense, and there was no denying the goldmine of ammunition this stranger had just handed her. But calling the Dawn Brigade a 'more powerful group'? They were determined, sure, but they'd never done anything on this level before. What exactly had drawn this stranger to them?

“I can tell you're still unconvinced,” the stranger said. “That is unfortunate, but not entirely unexpected. Take some time to think on it, and use that recording of yours as you see fit. I'll contact you again tomorrow.”

“And what then?” Micaiah rushed to say, before he could end the call. “You'll just keep feeding us more information, what, out of the goodness of your heart? Why are you doing this?”

“Our interests are aligned,” the voice said after a moment. “Or at least, I had hoped so. Think carefully.”

A mechanical click was all the sound she heard as he dropped the call from his end, and she threw her phone down on her bed in frustration. That was just what she needed: some mysterious voice whispering in her ear, telling her what to do. Her thoughts had been muddled before; now she was downright dizzy with confusion. And in spite of it all, there was the faint sense of excitement, and just a glimmer of hope.

If this stranger might help Daein, could she really turn him down?

* * *

_He'd been so distracted lately, first with the girl and then with all the planning, the hours and hours of planning, just to get close enough to—_

_It didn't matter, he reminded himself. Because the plan would work, and he would get close, and he would get the girl. But he couldn't lose focus anymore. He'd tried to put Ylisse on hold, and that was foolish. He recognized that now, but not before he had upset his partner with his carelessness._

_“Ylisse means as much to me as the girl means to you,” his partner had spat out angrily when he realized what he'd been up to. “I said I would help you, didn't I? And now you want to take away my victory, too?”_

_“I'm sorry,” he tried to apologize, suddenly aware of what he'd been doing in his delirious fits. They always seemed to fit so nicely, but they broke like waves on the shore when he came to his senses and then it was as if nothing had been accomplished at all._

_But he'd been forgiven, and that was what mattered then. They had agreed: neither goal could be abandoned._

_Tellius and Ylisse both—it wouldn't be the first time they'd taken on two enemies at once._


	6. 1-5

The first day they'd met, Emmeryn had asked Panne why she'd been in Rosanne to begin with. The answer Panne gave was a simple one: she had nowhere else to go. But as for why she'd ended up there as opposed to anywhere else? The truth was that she'd been following someone...or the ghost of someone, anyway.

Having lost her warren when she was young, Panne had been on her own for most of her life. But recently, she'd heard tell of another of her kind sighted in the north. She'd gone to Rosanne with low expectations, so it wasn't exactly surprising to discover the rumors were unfounded. That didn't change the hurt, though. She'd arrived only days before the riots broke out and then, because it wasn't as if she could slip out unnoticed, she'd gotten caught up in all this mess with the government and police.

The only saving grace was that she was almost certain she knew who had framed her: the same person who had led her to Rosanne in the first place. If not for Emmeryn's offer, Panne would have been tracking him down and tearing him apart herself—but for now, at least, she saw no harm in playing along with the humans. There was no shame in admitting their technology could find him more quickly than her keen senses alone.

That was what Emmeryn had suggested to Panne last week, and now they had pinpointed her target's location to somewhere within the borders of Ylisstol. Under the watchful eye of a police escort, Panne had been sent into the city as bait to draw him out. She didn't care for that term—'bait'—but she'd tolerate that and more to get her revenge. (Emmeryn had also suggested she was redirecting her anger. Panne didn't see why that should matter.)

Before setting her loose in the streets, Emmeryn and the brute she called Walhart had taken Panne to a different group of police and told her they would protect her. Panne had protested, uninterested in cooperating with more humans than absolutely necessary and confident in her own abilities, but Emmeryn refused to let her proceed otherwise. To Panne's relief, the officers assigned to her seemed decent enough for humans. One was apparently Emmeryn's brother, so she felt she could trust that one at least a little.

But Chrom wasn't the one following her today. Instead, it was two delicate-looking, long-haired women who alternated between overly polite conversation through their tiny headsets and awkward staring from a distance. Sumia and Cordelia, if Panne recalled their names correctly. (And if she were incorrect, Panne couldn't say she cared overly much.

Sumia was certainly an... _interesting_ human. Panne had been led to believe taguel were hardier than humans, but Sumia raised some questions about that—if humans were as delicate as she was told, it seemed quite remarkable that a woman like Sumia could make it to adulthood intact, given her frequent mishaps. Panne was almost impressed by her sturdiness, as much as she was wary of her unabashed friendliness. Sumia was unusual, in any case.

Cordelia seemed at first to be more in line with what Panne thought she knew about their kind. The woman was thin and weak-looking, but then she also displayed a physical strength greater than expected, given her small frame—just earlier today, Panne had seen her effortlessly lift a large dog into her patrol car without so much as a grunt. She also had bizarrely good hearing for a human, picking up on all of Panne's muttered complaints, though her response to those grumblings seemed to always be an attempt to fix whatever bothered her.

They were decent enough, Panne decided, but still human, and therefore not worth becoming overly friendly with. Panne tried to ignore them as she wandered the busy streets of downtown Ylisstol, focused on the task at hand.

She was in a crowded shopping district, dressed in a long-sleeved, hooded jacket to conceal her ears and fur. Hiding the latter made long pants necessary as well, and she wasn't pleased about that. The heavy clothes made her skin itch. She couldn't wait for this work to be over so she could get back to her temporary residence at her hotel and shed the awful things. The disguise was effective, though—no one looked twice at her, and she could discreetly sniff at the air without drawing too much attention. 

The earpiece they'd given her was the most annoying thing of all, though—Panne's sensitive ears amplified every little sound, made worse by the fact that it came from such a close source. And to make matters worse, her escorts were not a quiet bunch.

“Have you got anything yet?” Sumia's chipper voice asked through the headset. Panne tried not to flinch at how much louder the woman seemed when her voice was projected directly into her ears.

“She'll let us know when she does,” Cordelia answered indulgently when it became clear Panne would not.

“Oh, sorry!” Sumia yelped. “I don't mean to be a bother, Panne, just ignore me! People say I talk too much when I'm nervous—”

“Sumia!”

“Right, I'll just shut up now!”

Panne might even have thanked her for that, but just then, she caught a familiar scent in the air. She stopped dead in her tracks. She focused a moment, head turned, until she was certain she had the trail, and then she took off in a run.

“I found him,” she grunted into her headset, all the warning she was interested in giving the other women. If they managed to follow her, fine. If not, that was fine, too. Panne was on a mission, and this was personal. She wouldn't be distracted.

The trail ended outside a bookstore at the edge of the district. She didn't hesitate to barrel inside, heedless of any customers or shopkeepers in her way. She found her target toward the back of the store, flipping through comic books. Even without the scent she had followed, his white hair and unsettling smile made him stand out. A quick glance revealed an emergency exit nearby, and in a split second she formulated a plan. Swiftly, she ran to him, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and yanked him through the door and into a narrow alley.

“You!” she yelled, using her hold on his collar to push him up against the wall of the alley. “You disgusting, lying viper—!”

“Hey, it's the bunny lady!” the man cried out happily, apparently unfazed by her roughness. Panne leaned in closer and snarled, but his smile didn't fade at all. “I didn't think I'd see you again! How'd you get out of Rosanne?”

“You're either very brave or very stupid,” she growled.

“Nya ha, if you say so! Hey, was there another bunny there? I never got to find out.”

She dropped him and stepped back, torn between her surprise and fury. He casually straightened out his shirt and let out a pathetic cough, then giggled. It was a disturbing sound to hear from a grown man, and there was a dangerous edge to it that made Panne's skin crawl.

“Another taguel? Of course not,” she said cautiously. “Don't act as if you expected otherwise.”

“Hey, that's a shame,” he said. “Man, you sure do look mad, though! I guess that makes sense. I'd be pretty mad too if someone said they saw _my_ family running around out there and it turned out not to be true.”

“Then why did you do it?” Panne wasn't sure she really cared to know the answer, but of all the ways she'd considered the man might react when she tracked him down, this was not one of them. No part of his behavior was within the bounds of normality. The last time she'd spoken to this man, it had been brief, a quick exchange of information. Had he been this off-putting then? Was she really so distracted she wouldn't have noticed it?

“Do what?” he said. “Tell you all that stuff about seeing a bunny there? I dunno, I didn't know it was a lie. Some guy paid me to do it, so I figured, why not?”

At that, she moved in to grab him again, but she'd barely made contact when she was distracted by a shout from the entrance to the alley.

“Panne, are you alright?!” Cordelia came sprinting around the corner, stopping short when she realized Panne wasn't in any immediate danger. Her face was pale and her expression stricken, and she was breathing heavily. Sumia showed up almost right after, also panting. They must have been chasing after her, but Panne hadn't heard them say anything since she'd taken off. She reached up and realized her headset had fallen out somewhere along the way.

“I'm fine,” Panne said, one hand bunched up in the collar of her victim's shirt. “This _worm_ was about to tell me who he's working for.”

“Oh no, no, no!” Sumia gasped, running toward her frantically. “Please put him down! We don't want to hurt anyone!”

 _Speak for yourself_ , Panne thought, but she relinquished her hold and stepped back. She kept her glare focused on the man, just in case he tried to take off, but he only whistled happily and rocked back and forth on his heels like a bored child.

“Hey there, I'm Henry,” he introduced himself as Sumia got closer. She startled a bit and looked back at Cordelia, who had begun to follow her into the alley, and then smiled nervously.

“I'm Sumia, a police officer. Are you alright, Henry?” She spoke to him as if he were some hapless bystander, and Panne snarled instinctively. Regardless of his smile, this man was dangerous. No normal person would react to this situation in such a carefree way.

“Oh, I'm good,” Henry said. “So do they let just anyone join the police now? You look pretty weak. Say, do you think _I_ could be cop? Nya ha ha, that would be pretty funny!”

“I, um—” Sumia looked to Panne helplessly. “That's not a very nice thing to say...”

“Wow, are you for real?” Henry said, bursting into great peals of laughter. “This is great!”

By then, Cordelia had caught up to them, and she looked between Sumia's dejected stance, Henry's laughing face, and Panne's glare, then fixed them all with a stern look.

“What is going on here?” she asked, and then she shook her head. “Never mind. Let's start at the beginning: Panne, why did you take off like that? Is this the man you were looking for?”

“Yes,” Panne answered. “I was just about to ask him some questions.”

“I'm sure,” Cordelia said skeptically. “There are better places to do that than in an alleyway. People might get the wrong idea.”

“Nah, I'm pretty sure they'd get exactly the right one,” Henry offered. “But I don't mind! I've never been beaten up by the police before. Do I get a lot of money if I tell on you?”

“Well, technically Panne isn't even part of the force,” Sumia said.

“Sumia, that's not...” Cordelia sighed. She turned to Henry. “You don't look hurt to me. If you have a problem, we can talk about it down at the station.”

“Okay,” Henry said cheerfully. “Let's go.”

All three women were surprised by the statement, but Cordelia was the only one who voiced it. “You do realize why we're asking you to come with us?” she said. “You're not under arrest, but we _will_ be questioning you. Do you have a lawyer? Anyone you can call?”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that,” Henry answered. “Actually, there have been some pretty bad guys following me for a while now, so I'm probably safer with you. Can we go now?”

At the mention of 'bad guys', both Cordelia and Sumia straightened and looked around quickly, as if readying for some sort of attack, but Panne would have heard anyone else nearby. Either Henry was in no immediate danger or he was lying entirely, and Panne wouldn't be surprised to discover it was the latter. Given a few minutes alone with him, she thought she could probably find out for sure, but the officers were unlikely to allow that now.

“Alright, then,” Cordelia said, apparently satisfied there was no present danger. “Follow us. We'll talk more at the station.”

* * *

By Ike's best estimate, the company was in for a busy day. Soren had wasted no time yesterday telling him what he'd overheard at the benefit dinner (and then proceeding to spend a good half hour complaining about it, but that was pretty much to be expected), so Greil Investigations was well-prepared for whatever the senator had planned today. Ike had sent Rhys out that morning to shadow Oliver as usual, and now he was getting to ready to head out himself. The plan was to meet up outside the location of Oliver's last scheduled appointment and follow him from there.

But it'd be a couple hours till then, so Ike had tried to find ways to kill time around the office. So far, he hadn't accomplished much. Well, he'd fielded three phone calls (two of which were wrong numbers) and beaten Boyd's high score in solitaire, but he had yet to do anything business-related. It was a good reminder of why he preferred to be out in the field, though.

A little after three o'clock, Mist and Rolf walked into the office, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Something immediately struck him as odd, and it only took a moment to realize what it was.

“You're not wearing the medallion,” he noted, gesturing around his chest in an imitation of where it ought to be hanging on hers. Mist shot him a look of disbelief and held her hands up.

“Seriously? Even _you_ noticed?” she said incredulously. “Is what I wear just everybody's business now?”

“Hey,” he warned, and she frowned, playing with the hem of her dress the way she tended to when she was brooding.

“Fine, sorry,” she said moodily. “I don't know where it is. I think I lost it.”

“How? You never take the thing off.”

Mist glared at him, and he knew right away she'd gone beyond broody right into actually angry territory.

“Thanks, Detective Ike. You're being really helpful!” she yelled, then she stomped out of the room. Rolf muttered an apology and rushed off after her, leaving the room quiet in their wake.

Ike didn't really know how to respond to that. This seemed like one of those situations where he'd inadvertently walked into a social pitfall and needed someone else to explain what exactly he'd done wrong. And the only other person in the building right now was Soren, who was, without question, even worse at that.

So he put the medallion out of his mind. It didn't seem important right then, anyway.

* * *

Micaiah sat in an old chair in the hideout, staring at the junk phone in her hands. The recording was there—she just had to decide what to do with it, and how. She'd been sitting there in silence for so long, she actually jumped when she heard the door open.

She'd called the others in for an emergency meeting, but Sothe was early. He pulled one of his unlikely smiles when he saw her, then sat down next to her. “You look worried,” he said, and then he looked away, face a little red. She sighed. Teenage boys were ridiculous. What was so embarrassing about being concerned for a friend? He wasn't wrong, either.

“I am worried,” she agreed. “I had a...busy night.”

Even though she'd spent the whole day thinking about the best way to tell her friends what she'd done, she found herself telling Sothe without even meaning to. The words just came tumbling out, and at the end, she played the recording for him, too. She regretted it immediately when he finally collected himself enough to respond.

“You went out on your own?!” he yelled, face pale. She was surprised by the intensity of the question and immediately felt defensive about it.

“I didn't want to put the rest of you in danger,” she tried to explain, but Sothe wasn't having any of it.

“The rest of us? What about you?!”

“I'm the one who started all of this, so it was my responsibility—”

“Forget it,” Sothe said, turning his back on her. “I need a minute. I'll be back when the others get here.”

He stormed out, leaving Micaiah speechless. She almost wanted to cry for how horribly that had gone. Would the others react as badly as Sothe had? And she hadn't even gotten the chance to tell him about the offer the stranger had made...

The others started showing up a little while later, Sothe returning just as he'd promised, though he didn't look any less upset. Even though she didn't really want to anymore, Micaiah decided she had to tell them what had happened. There was really nothing for it. She couldn't very well keep something like this a secret; and besides, she was no closer to a solution now than she had been last night. So when they had all arrived, she sat them around the table and played the recording.

They were all speechless for a moment, Micaiah included, because she still hadn't found the right words. But then Edward broke out into a large grin, the cautious beginnings of the same mirrored in Leonardo's and Laura's expressions. Aran and Tormod looked interested, at least, though Nolan was frowning worriedly, brow furrowed, looking as if he had something he thought he might like to say, but he couldn't quite decide.

“Is that who I think it is?” Edward asked.

“Yes,” Micaiah answered simply. They were silent once more, until Nolan chose to speak at last.

“One has to wonder how you came across something like that,” he mused, stroking his chin. “It's not exactly the sort of thing you just stumble upon, now is it?”

“Not exactly,” Micaiah admitted. She looked to Sothe for support, but he turned away with a huff. So he was still angry? “Someone delivered a package here yesterday.”

“Here as in _here_ , at the base?!” Edward cried, leaping up excitedly. Leonardo grabbed the edge of his shirt to pull him back down to his seat and shushed him, then looked to Micaiah expectantly. Distantly, she thought, _Oh, now you're concerned about preserving the secrecy of the hideout._

Out loud, she continued, “I don't know who it was or how they found us, but yes, they delivered a package here, right to the front door, with our name on it.” At least by the shock on their faces, she could surmise none of them had been involved. Not that she thought they would have told on purpose, but if they'd accidentally let it slip...

Well, it was irrelevant now anyway.

“They sent us that phone, and a note to meet them last night. I went; that happened.” She pointed to the phone, indicating the recording. Silence again. Then:

“You went alone?!” Edward and Leonardo yelled at once.

“You at least took Sothe with you?” Nolan asked.

“No, she didn't,” Sothe answered moodily, apparently deciding now was a helpful time to start speaking again.

Micaiah didn't bother to explain her reasoning, sure they would react the same way Sothe had. Instead, she waited out their scolding and got on to the heart of the issue.

“He says he wants to help,” she told them, “but he won't say who he is. I need to give him an answer tonight.”

“You tell him no, because he's clearly a creep,” Sothe said immediately, and Micaiah sighed.

“He could obviously help, though,” Aran offered, only to be met by Sothe's glare. He turned his head away and added, “I didn't say she should do it; I'm just pointing out the facts.”

“It does sound awfully suspicious,” Laura said, “but maybe he has a reason to keep his identity hidden—just like you, Micaiah.”

“Exactly how much does he know about us?” Leonardo asked, fidgeting in his seat. He'd hit the nail right on the head, as far as Micaiah was concerned, but it was unsurprising. Next to Micaiah herself, Leonardo probably had the most to lose if this got out, coming from a fairly wealthy and prestigious family.

“I really don't know,” she admitted.

“So if we refuse, he could use that against us,” Nolan said. “We have to take that into account, then.”

“Do we?” Tormod asked. He had been fairly quiet during the whole discussion, and his words now surprised Micaiah. He had a thoughtful look on his face and he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. “It's not like we've actually done anything illegal. What's he gonna do, tell our families?”

“Yes!” Leonardo said incredulously. “That's exactly what we're afraid he'll do!”

“The two of you, maybe,” Tormod countered easily, looking coolly between him and Micaiah. “I don't see what the rest of us have to worry about.”

Micaiah paused. Sothe looked ready to jump to her defense, but she stopped him and said, “You're not wrong. I hadn't thought of that. Either way, we need to decide.”

“Fair enough,” Tormod said, leaning forward again and settling into an easy smile. “I still vote no, though. Who knows what this guy's deal is?”

“Thank you,” Sothe grumbled, muttering something about an unlikely voice of reason.

“Okay, but look at what he can do,” Aran pointed out. “You met him once, and he gave you a senator on a silver platter. You sure you wanna turn that down? I say we hear him out.”

“Me too,” Laura said. “I really think it's worth giving him the benefit of the doubt. Only if we all agree, of course.”

Leonardo sighed. “It is what it is,” he said. “I'll go along with whatever you decide, Micaiah.”

“Yea, we trust your judgment,” Edward added.

Which left her with two _no_ s, two _yes_ es, and two votes of confidence and not much else. She turned to Nolan desperately and he shook his head.

“It has to be your decision,” he said. “You're the leader here, and I know we'll all follow you, no matter what choice you make.” The others nodded in agreement.

She'd been afraid of that. But having them here reminded her of what they'd all gathered for in the first place: to protect Daein. And in the end, they were in no position to turn down any help. So she decided.

“We're saying yes.”

* * *

Rhys had been following Oliver all day, and not much of note had happened yet. Mostly, the past few hours only cemented Rhys's understanding that while he'd never actually interacted with the senator personally, he had no reason to doubt that the man was exactly as vexing as Mia kept claiming. Most of Oliver's interactions with other people ended with the opposite party looking plain exhausted or, on rare occasions, stomping off angrily.

One of those furious takeoffs had just occurred, following some conversation the senator was having with a young woman at a museum opening. Oliver looked completely baffled, and Rhys honestly felt a little bad for him—he suspected the senator was genuinely unaware of the effects of his own behavior. It didn't excuse it, of course, but it went a long way in explaining how a personality like that came to be.

But soon after, Oliver was heading out to meet his driver, and Rhys started back to his own car in the museum parking lot. As planned, Ike was waiting there, having driven to meet him.

“He's just leaving,” Rhys said as he climbed into the driver's seat, nodding to the stairs of the museum where Oliver was being helped into a much nicer car than Rhys could ever hope to own.

“Any idea where he's headed?” Ike asked, following suit and getting into the passenger side.

“None at all, I'm afraid.”

Rhys waited until Oliver's car had pulled away, and then he followed at a reasonable distance. The benefit of doing something like this in the afternoon, he figured, was that there were more cars on the road, so they weren't likely to be noticed. Not that Oliver seemed to notice much anyway, but he might have more astute personnel on his staff.

They drove for close to half an hour and ended up in the outskirts of the city, in some neighborhood Rhys didn't recognize. As they rounded a corner, Ike told him to stop the car, and he listened, though he wasn't sure what had prompted the order. Sure enough, though, Oliver's own car came to a halt at the other end of the street, and the man stepped out. From a distance, it was hard to tell, but Rhys thought he was fidgeting strangely. The car took off and left him there alone.

Then, a man emerged from a nearby building and approached the senator—a man with dark black wings, and that certainly wasn't an everyday sight around Crimea.

“Isn't that—” Rhys started.

“That's a Raven,” Ike interrupted, eyes narrowed. He whistled appreciatively. “No, wait, that's the _leader_ of the Ravens.”

“What on earth is he doing _here_?”

“Knowing Naesala? Probably nothing good.”

Oliver and Naesala seemed to have a quick argument about something, hands gesturing wildly, though Rhys couldn't begin to guess as to what. As they spoke, a taxi rounded the corner and stopped. Then Oliver hurried to the taxi, Naesala in tow. Both climbed in, and it pulled away from the curb.

“Do we still follow him, or should we be calling the police?” Rhys asked, suddenly feeling very tired. He looked over to Ike, who showed no sign of fatigue and only shrugged.

“We've got a job,” he answered simply.

“Yes...” Rhys sighed. With great reluctance, he put the car in gear and got back on the road. He had a very bad feeling about this.

* * *

It gave Reyson a sickening sense of deja vu to be back at the villa, barely a week after their last attempt at catching the senator. It was nearing the time Naesala should be making contact, and the sinking feeling grew worse with every passing second. He'd taken to pacing back and forth across the empty room to expend some of that nervous energy, but it wasn't helping.

“You doing okay in there?” Tibarn's voice came in through his earpiece. In addition to the standard radio (discreetly hidden in a pile of boxes in the corner of the room), he was wearing a wire and earpiece fed back to the disguised van just outside the estate, where Tibarn and his crew were waiting for the go-ahead to move in. As far as Reyson knew, Naesala was similarly outfitted, though he didn't think the connection would work until he was nearer their location.

“Just fine,” Reyson grumbled irritably. “Have you heard from Naesala yet? Shouldn't he have called something in by now?”

“We're getting there,” Tibarn answered, though he sounded on edge himself. “I'll give him a few more minutes. If he hasn't said anything by then, I'll call him myself.”

“Fine,” Reyson answered, then resumed his pacing.

In the crow's defense, it wasn't long before the earpiece was buzzing again, and Tibarn warned him that Oliver was on his way. “Small change of plans,” he added, voice going low and dangerous. “Apparently Izuka's laying low, so Naesala's playing the part of the seller. Try not to hit him.”

“Oh, I'll let you take care of that,” Reyson replied, just as angry. Granted, it wouldn't be quite as satisfying as landing the blow himself, but at least he knew it would _hurt_. And Naesala had it coming. Playing bait in this scenario was _embarrassing_ , and the only reason he'd agreed to it in the first place was that no one he knew would be around to actually see it (that, and a not-unreasonable fear that Leanne would offer herself up if he refused). Knowing Naesala, he'd probably go out of his way to make it even more mortifying.

But he could worry about that later. For now, Reyson had a part to play. He tried to calm himself, at least to the point his rage wouldn't be immediately obvious on his face. It seemed unlikely to make a difference, but he figured he could at least pretend to be a peace-loving Heron for the benefit of the ruse. He channeled his inner Rafiel and plastered on the most disgustingly fragile, worried expression he could conjure up.

It had the pleasant side-effect of making Naesala look extremely uncomfortable when he finally showed up with the senator, so Reyson counted it as a win.

“...And here he is, senator,” Naesala said with a flourish. As soon as Oliver's back was turned, Naesala raised his hands in a questioning gesture and gave him a baffled look. It was actually quite satisfying.

“How magnificent!” Oliver exclaimed, eyes absolutely shining with delight. Reyson instinctively started to make a noise of disgust, but at the last moment he managed to turn it into a whimper instead. It only seemed to further the senator's excitement.

“Oh, what a delicate creature! So beautiful! So pure!”

“Mm-hm,” Naesala said slyly, putting one hand on the senator's shoulder to keep him from getting any closer. “Now you've seen the goods, let's talk fees.”

“Before that, could I have a moment alone with him?” Oliver asked. He was staring directly at Reyson and didn't so much as turn to look back at the Raven as he spoke. “Just to be absolutely sure of things.”

Naesala's eyes widened very briefly and he looked away while he forced his face back into a neutral expression. Through the earpiece, Reyson heard Tibarn threaten, _“Kilvas, don't you fucking dare—”_

“Not that I don't trust you,” Naesala said in that lilting tone, “but I do have to protect my merchandise. You know how it is, I'm sure.”

“I would never harm a hair on his beautiful head!” Oliver cried. “Just a minute or two, that's all I want, and then we can discuss terms.”

Reyson looked over Oliver's head and met Naesala's gaze, then sighed. He shrugged as lightly as he could and hoped his intention was clear—a few minutes seemed harmless enough, now that he'd gotten a good look at the senator. Anything to bring this farce to a close.

“Two minutes,” Naesala said after a pause (which was met with a litany of creative curses on Tibarn's end of the mic). “I'll be right outside the door there. Don't try anything.”

“I just said—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Naesala sauntered out the doorway, shooting one last concerned glance over his shoulder. He mouthed, _'Be careful'_ , and then he was gone and Reyson was alone with the senator. As soon as the room was clear, Oliver rushed forward and grabbed his hands, looking up at him with a feverish sort of adoration that made Reyson uncomfortable in every possible way. It took all his willpower not to instinctively jerk back.

“Now that that awful Raven is out of the way, we can talk freely,” Oliver gushed.

“...Right,” Reyson answered after a moment, struggling not to gag. He noted with some interest that Tibarn seemed to still be cursing out Naesala over the radio.

“It's terrible, just terrible, to see a pretty thing like you being mistreated! But have no fear, Uncle Oliver is here to rescue you from these depraved circumstances. Just play along, and we'll have you out of here in no time!”

 _That_ certainly had not been the direction Reyson expected this conversation to go.

“Wait a minute,” he said, dumbfounded, accidentally dropping the helpless facade. “I just want this to be completely clear: you aren't here to... _'buy'_ me?”

“Oh, well, I'll still have to do that, but it's all an act, you see! Once that nasty bird has his money, I'll take you away to my estate in Begnion, where we can live freely and beautifully!”

Ah, now they were approaching more familiar territory. “...What if I don't want to stay in Begnion?” Reyson asked.

“I'm afraid you'll have to,” Oliver replied. “It's simply safer that way. But you'll be very happy there, I promise!”

“You could just let me go,” he suggested, to Oliver's apparent confusion..

“Why would I do that? No, you'll be much happier if you stay with me. Beautiful people belong together, after all.”

“Oh for the love of—” Reyson bit back the rest of the sentiment and plastered on a neutral expression. More for the benefit of the wire he was wearing, he repeated, “So you _are_ here to buy me.”

“It sounds ugly when you put it like that,” Oliver said with a sad sigh.

“It's slavery,” Reyson answered deadpan. Oliver gasped and held a hand over his heart.

“All for the cause of beauty!” he protested.

“That's close enough to a confession, I suppose,” Naesala quipped from the doorway. “I think we're done here, senator.”

Reyson rolled his eyes at Naesala's showmanship as comprehension slowly dawned on Oliver's face, only to be replaced by blind panic.

But Reyson hadn't accounted for how close Oliver had moved in as they spoke. With deceptive speed, the senator reached into his pocket and lurched forward.

Reyson felt the sharp prick of a needle jammed into his chest, and then he was falling, eyes sliding shut of their own accord. He heard the noise as he hit the floor, but he couldn't feel anything. He also heard Oliver's heavy footsteps running out of the room.

“Shit,” he heard Naesala swear. He sounded close by, and Reyson wondered why he wasn't chasing Oliver. “Tibarn, the rat's getting away—chase after him! He got Reyson with some sort of—tranquilizer, I think—no, I've got it, just make sure he doesn't get away!”

Reyson's last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was that he really hoped this had been worth the embarrassment. Then everything went black.

* * *

Ike and Rhys had followed Oliver to some fancy looking mini-mansion outside the city, though they still weren't sure what he was doing there. He'd come in a taxi, which had let him off at the gate and then driven around the corner, where it was idling now. The estate was huge, and it seemed to take up an entire city block's worth of land all on its own. The building itself was no grander than any pointlessly huge mansion, but the grounds surrounding it made for a miniature forest, and the whole property was enclosed in a tall black fence.

They had driven by the entrance once, and the place looked deserted. The only other vehicle on the road was the black minivan down the street, which raised some questions, but if it didn't affect their job, Ike had better things to worry about. He had Rhys park the car around the corner, far enough to stay out of the taxi's sight, then he planned to circle back to the villa's entrance on foot.

He never got that far, because halfway there, the minivan flew by with screeching tires, and he realized with some dismay that they had wandered into some sort of sting operation. He had no intention of getting mixed up with the police again, especially not any outside of Melior. (Melior's police, at least, he knew how to deal with.)

He abruptly decided to walk back to the car, where Rhys was waiting nervously (not for any particular reason, as far as Ike could tell—Rhys was just a generally anxious sort of person). Rhys rolled down the window as he approached and stuck his head out.

“Back already?” he asked.

“I think we'd better sit this one out,” Ike answered, heading around to the passenger-side door.

“If we leave, couldn't that cause a problem in our contract with Sanaki?”

Ike shook his head. “It'll be a bigger problem if we don't. Looks like—”

He stopped short, hand hovering above the door handle, and then he turned fast toward the fence around the estate. Had that been...?

“Wait here a minute,” he told Rhys, then he took off along the edge of the fence. That was the direction of the parked taxi, and just now, he could've sworn he saw someone scrambling that way on the other side of the fence. He wasn't going to get mixed up in a police operation, but he also sure as hell wasn't letting his own target get away for one of their oversights.

Right across the street from the taxi, there was a gap in the fence. Ike made it there well before Oliver, which wasn't exactly surprising, given the man's girth, but he still somehow caught him blind. As distracted as the senator was with looking back over his own shoulder, he came stumbling through the fence only to run full-on into Ike, bounce back, and land flat on his ass on the pavement. He looked up, wild-eyed and sputtering.

“Y-you! Where did—? How—?”

“You need a hand there?” Ike said, stalling for time. He could already hear another person approaching from the woods, shouting for Oliver to stop. In less than a minute, his pursuer appeared, the fury in his eyes turned to incredulous surprise.

“Ike?” Tibarn said, confused.

“Tibarn?” Ike replied, equally confused. Below them, Oliver let out a strangled cry, and both men turned their gazes to him. He was still laid out on the sidewalk, mumbling incoherently. Ike raised his hands and took a step back. “He's all yours.”

“Many thanks,” Tibarn replied dryly. With a bemused expression, he hauled Oliver to his feet by his collar, then promptly handcuffed him to the fence. “Wait there a minute while my men bring the patrol car over, senator. In the meantime, let's get this out of the way: you're under arrest for laguz trafficking. You have the right to remain silent, if you think you can manage that. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you about your right to counsel, but there you go. Understood?”

Oliver only sniffled miserably. “You've got it all wrong! I was only trying to help the poor bird.” A weird sort of light came to his eyes and he added, staring directly at the Hawk, “You know, you're not so bad yourself, in a rugged sort of way. Surely you can appreciate—”

Tibarn turned to Ike and said, “If you wanted to slug him one, I could look the other way.”

“Trafficking, huh?” Ike repeated instead. “What was he doing in there?”

“Being an idiot. Tried to run off with—” Tibarn froze, then swore and fumbled around his belt until he came with a radio. He spoke into it, saying, “Naesala, how's Reyson?” Ike resisted the impulse to interrupt, and after a moment, Tibarn sighed and then laughed with relief. “Great, do that. I'll meet you there. Make sure he knows we got him.”

“Is Reyson okay?” Ike asked after Tibarn had pocketed the radio again. “What happened?”

“This jackass apparently thought it would be a good idea to knock out the least threatening person in the room. Not sure what his end game was there—it's not like he could've run off with him. Reyson's not _that_ light.”

“I panicked,” Oliver piped up helpfully, only to be met with twin glares. “It was only a mild sedative; it'll wear off soon! As if I'd ever cause lasting damage to such a marvelous—”

“Anyway, Naesala's taking him to a doctor, just to be safe,” Tibarn said. “I'll meet them there as soon as I hand this oaf off. Speak of the devil...” A patrol car rounded the corner, and two Hawks stepped out.

“Janaff and Ulki, right?” Ike ventured, mostly sure he'd remembered their names correctly. He'd only met them a few times before, and briefly at that.

“Huh, is that Ike?” Janaff said, cracking a grin. “What are you doing here?”

Ulki coughed politely and Janaff rolled his eyes, shoulders drooping. “Yea, yea, I know. Love to catch up, but we've got a job to do.” He leaned in conspiratorially, jerked his head toward his partner, and whispered, “He never lets me have any fun.”

“I can hear you,” Ulki said, deadpan.

“Of course you can.”

As they collected Oliver (still dejectedly proclaiming his good intentions), Ike considered that this had been a pretty lucky break. They'd finished the job early, but thanks to their contract, the pay wouldn't be affected. It meant they could start taking on more standard work to fill the schedule. It also meant he was done with politics for the foreseeable future—and that was more valuable than any payment.

* * *

“He says it wasn't him,” Panne growled. “He's an unsettling little creature, but I don't think he's lying.”

Emmeryn sighed and sipped her tea. Panne was clearly unhappy, but she seemed to have calmed somewhat since arriving at Emmeryn's office earlier in the afternoon. Emmeryn had called Panne in the moment she heard about the altercation with the Plegian in the city. Fortunately, Frederick had called her as soon as the man—Henry, he said—was brought into the station, so she felt she was still on top of the situation. He had been questioned by both Frederick and Phila, and the story he told was certainly worrisome. 

For the time being, he was being kept under surveillance by the 1st—by his own request, no less. He was their best chance at finding whoever was behind the disturbance in Rosanne, and if someone really was after him, protecting him was in their best interest. That was the argument Emmeryn had had to make to the police, anyway. Henry was a citizen of Ylisse: if it were up to Emmeryn, she would have done anything in her power to ensure his safety regardless.

“And the person who led him to you—Henry says he never learned their identity?”

“He claims it was another Plegian,” Panne said. “He said one of them can always recognize another. I had thought that ability limited to my own kind. Is this something all humans can do, or does it only work on Plegians?”

Emmeryn coughed politely to stifle a laugh. “I believe that's something unique to this particular Plegian, I'm afraid.”

Panne sipped her own tea, apparently considering this. “Hm. That's unfortunate. It could have been useful.”

“Is that so?” Emmeryn asked, amused. “In any case, the trouble now is deciding what to do next. Unfortunately, we're no closer to discovering who was behind the attack on Rosanne.”

“It's a matter of time,” Panne said casually, surprising her. “Henry says that person is after him now. When they find him, I find them. And then I take care of them.”

The taguel's tone had grown vicious toward the end of that statement, and Emmeryn suppressed a shudder. Yes, she would definitely have to take measures to prevent Panne from being alone when that information was discovered. An attempt at violence at this point wasn't a possibility so much as a certainty.

Meanwhile, Panne had begun to fidget irritably, and Emmeryn inquired as to the cause.

“You can't hear that awful ringing?” Panne asked, one long ear twitching of its own accord. “It's the phone outside. It's been going off since I got here. Does it always do that?”

“No,” Emmeryn answered with a frown.

“Ah, someone's coming,” Panne muttered, turning toward the door. Sure enough, a polite knock followed, and Libra stepped in, pale and nervous.

“Minister,” he said, voice steady in spite of his flustered expression, “there's been an incident.”

“What kind of incident?” Emmeryn asked, eyes narrowed. When Libra directed his gaze toward their company, Emmeryn waved her hand. “If it's related to Rosanne, Panne is already involved.”

“Not Rosanne,” Libra replied. “It's Plegia.”

Panne let out a low growl, and Libra took a step back. Emmeryn sighed. “Speak freely, Libra.”

“Very well,” he said. He hesitated before continuing, “I'm getting reports that the premier of Plegia has been assassinated. Director Walhart has just confirmed it.”

“Validar?” Emmeryn repeated breathlessly. Who would have...? What was there to gain in that? He was no more or less liked than any other politician, so why would he be targeted? And how had an assassin even reached someone of his station?

“There's more,” Libra said. “His second-in-command, Gangrel, has taken over the Plegian capitol building.”

“He can't just wrest control of the government,” Emmeryn said incredulously. “That's not how it works.” She almost wanted to laugh for the absurdity of it all. This was ridiculous; this made no sense. Why would anyone...?

Libra only shook his head. “You don't understand. Emmeryn, they're blaming _you_.”

“Me?” she repeated blankly.

“Gangrel is telling Plegia and anyone else who will listen that the assassin was sent by Ylisstol. Naga knows why, but they believe it—or at least, they're happy to pretend they do, if it gives them a reason to revolt. It's worse than Valm there right now.”

Emmeryn was speechless. Panne was not.

“How ridiculous,” the taguel said with a derisive laugh. “Are Plegians really so stupid?”

“Ambitious, more like,” Libra said darkly. “And short-sighted. Even if they get what they want, this won't end well for anyone. Minister, the director is on his way here now to brief you fully on the situation.”

“Understood,” Emmeryn said, still in shock. “Until then, if I could have a moment alone...?”

“Of course,” Libra said, leaving without another word. Panne nodded and followed after, muttering under her breath.

When they had both gone, Emmeryn buried her face in her hands, exhausted and frustrated at her own failure to prevent this madness. The shadow of her father's legacy clung tight and taunted her. This had happened under her command, and now she had to find some way to fix it. But each time she tried to think of some new path to take, her thoughts became muddled and heavy, and she could only count the ways she might make everything worse.

She had no idea what to do.

* * *

_It hadn't taken much, once they decided to proceed. After all, the pieces had been in play for some time now, just waiting for the order to move. And now the order had been given, the game would play itself._

_He couldn't enjoy watching it unfold, so his partner would have to enjoy it for them both. His mind kept wandering, foolishly, hopelessly, weighted too heavy to come back up._

_And now there was the third one underfoot all the time, and it bothered him. His partner said it would help ground him, keep the fits away, but the third one drove him to madness with his incessant blathering. The child he'd come with wasn't so terrible, at least. The child knew when to shut up._

_But he couldn't hurt his partner again. They were all each other had left, and if that meant sacrifices, so be it. Compared to before, this was only a little suffering. In the end, the joy would eclipse it all._


	7. 2-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 2, the one that overstays its welcome.

Micaiah had almost forgotten about the governor's son when he contacted her only a few days after her encounter with the stranger and the senator in Nevassa. Still wary after the last event, when a call from an unknown number came through on her personal phone, she was less than polite.

“Who is this?” she answered brusquely, only to be met with silence. She repeated the question even more forcefully.

“I, uh, think I have the wrong number,” a timid voice said. It was weirdly, uniquely familiar, and it took her a moment to place it.

“Pelleas?” she said. She recalled suddenly that she had, in fact, given him her number at that banquet, with a sarcastic mention that he should call if he ever felt like doing something useful for his people. She hadn't expected him to actually follow through.

“Oh, this _is_ Micaiah, then?” he said. “You sound...different over the phone.”

To his credit, that was a very polite way of putting it. “It's been sort of a hectic week,” she admitted.

“Oh. Should I call back later? Is this a bad time? I'm sorry, I just-”

“No, no, it's fine. Was there something you wanted?”

After a bit more stumbling and an honestly uncomfortable number of apologies, he managed to say he was interested in her offer to help the people of Daein. Surprised but skeptical, she told him to meet her and Sothe over the weekend at a local soup kitchen for some volunteer work.

She was a little impressed that he actually showed up. Less so when they started working and he displayed little to no understanding of _why_ they were there in the first place. He seemed to have some unfortunate ideas about the poor and homeless, no doubt planted by his all-around terrible father.

“Won't they just become dependent on the free meals?” Pelleas asked as they set up. Micaiah sighed. She knew his intentions were innocent and he didn't mean for it to sound the way it did, but still.

“So you'd rather everyone who can't afford a meal go hungry?” she asked.

“Well, no,” he quickly replied. “But...”

“Giving them food today won't fix all their problems, but it takes care of one, at least. It's better than just ignoring them completely.”

“Yes,” Pelleas said slowly, with a confusion that suggested he had more to say but couldn't quite articulate those thoughts. For the life of her, Micaiah couldn't imagine what was on his mind.

Beside them, Sothe grumbled a curse and pushed his hair back from his face. “Why do you even bother with him?” he muttered.

“Don't be like that,” she scolded. To Pelleas, she gently said, “Just speak your mind.”

“Well,” he began, “it just seems... This isn't very much, is it? Sure, they'll have a full stomach tonight, but tomorrow they'll be in just the same way they were today. How does this really help make things better?”

Micaiah bit back a relieved laugh. So he wasn't worried about helping the needy – he was worried about not helping _enough_. Sothe groaned.

“Are you an idiot?” he grumbled before she could clear things up. “The soup kitchen's not the only thing they've got running here. There's a whole organization dedicated to finding jobs, housing, and medical care for the people who need it. We just help out where we're qualified – here, in the kitchen.”

“Oh!” Pelleas said, apparently surprised by this common knowledge. “I hadn't realized.”

“Seriously? Didn't you grow up in this city? Or were you raised under a rock?”

“Oh, no, my father's home was much colder than that,” he answered automatically, startling a laugh out of Micaiah. Even Sothe seemed a little mollified by the self-deprecating joke. Pelleas, for his part, blushed lightly, and she wondered if he had even meant to say that out loud.

“This is one of the programs your father is always trying to cut funding for,” Micaiah noted. Pelleas shuffled nervously.

“I don't really have any say in what he does,” he said. Micaiah shot Sothe a warning look, at the same time reminding herself that patience was a virtue. She breathed deeply to calm herself.

“We're not asking you to change the world,” she said slowly. “Just talk to your father. Tell him how you feel. Maybe he'll listen to you.”

She seriously doubted it, but hey, it was worth a shot. And Pelleas could stand to show a little backbone, anyway.

* * *

Only a few hours later, Micaiah darted across the street under the cover of darkness, illuminated only briefly by the flickering light of a streetlamp, but even if anyone had seen her, her red hood disguised most of her features. In her arms she held a neatly wrapped brown package, its contents a mystery even to her. Her being here at all was something of a mystery, but she had her orders and she would fulfill them.

Micaiah grinned despite herself. This wasn't like last time. Just down the street, Edward and Leonardo were keeping watch. Sothe was making a delivery of his own. She didn't really understand how any of this helped Daein, but their mysterious friend had worked a miracle before, and she was willing to trust him again.

She dropped the package on the doorstep of the shop she stood before, and then she reached into her bag and pulled out the spray paint and a photograph. Shaking the can, she had to wonder about this, too, but their instructions were clear. With the picture in one hand, she readied the can, and she copied the image there onto the brick wall next to the shopfront door.

When she was done, she studied the image for a moment. It had a sort of compass-like shape to it, didn't it? Her copy wasn't exactly perfect, but she was satisfied it came close enough to get the point across. Whatever the point was supposed to be. With a final nod, she put the can of spray paint back in her bag and rushed down the street again. Her friends met her with a smile, and they parted ways nervous and excited.

She turned on the news the next morning to see a reporter in front of the shop she'd been at last night, not far from the place she'd been standing herself.

“A shock for the city this morning as a well-known businessman was arrested for vehicular manslaughter in an unsolved hit-and-run from three months ago,” the reporter said. “In a highly unusual occurrence, police say the man turned himself in this morning and confessed to the charges. Locals may recognize him from his popular store...”

As the story continued, the camera panned slightly, possibly just a mistake by a rookie cameraman. From the new angle, the symbol Micaiah had painted was clearly visible. No mention of it was made, but she wondered if anyone else had noticed, or if anyone knew what it meant. She had no doubt it was their actions last night that led to the arrest this morning. What had been in that package?

She decided it was undeniably a good thing, in any case. When she arrived at the hideout that afternoon, she was met with cheers, her friends equally pleased to have done something good for the city. Suddenly knowing their potential, they all eagerly awaited the next order, and it wasn't long before it came. And then the jobs kept coming.

The turnaround was amazing. In just under a month, the Dawn Brigade went from a virtually unknown Nevassa-based grassroots organization into a Robin Hood-style household name through all of Daein. Micaiah was aware enough to realize it was all due to their mysterious benefactor's influence.

The oddest thing was, all of the work had been tiny, inconsequential jobs. A delivery here, a change of hands there...all of it was, as best she could tell, harmless, yet their name kept growing larger. The people had even given her some ridiculous moniker like out of an old story: the Silver-Haired Maiden. The only stipulation their informant had made was this: at every job, they were to spray-paint a calling card – a blue, compass-shaped symbol. She had no idea what it meant, but it seemed a small price to pay for the fortune they were receiving in turn.

The only one who still hadn't come around was Sothe, but if there was going to be a hold-out, she wasn't surprised it was him. She knew his defensiveness was deep-seated and all for the benefit of the people he loved, but she still wished he could be a little less suspicious of every new thing.

“He still hasn't said why he's helping us,” Sothe liked to remind her at every opportunity. “If he doesn't trust us enough for that by now, why should we trust him?”

“Because he's helping Daein,” Micaiah always answered. “That's good enough for me.”

It was true. And by the time it wasn't anymore... Well, by that point, she had no other choice.

* * *

Jill Fizzart walked briskly down the halls of the Nevassa police station, hands fidgeting at her sides. She reached to adjust her tie before remembering that she was in plainclothes today; no hat, no tie, no stiff-collared blouse. Just her white button-down and pleated pants. She felt too comfortable. It was definitely going to take some getting used to.

She stopped before she reached the doors of the captain's office and took a deep breath. She felt like a fresh recruit, which was silly. But her first day as a detective was doing a real number on her nerves.

“Just gonna stand there all day?” a bored voice drawled out behind her.

She whirled around and found Haar yawning, apparently unconcerned for her nerves. She flushed red at his teasing: it was bad enough that he'd been the one to train her back when she was just starting out, but he was also a friend of her father's. She didn't want to kick off her promotion by being treated like a little kid.

“Normal people get nervous,” Jill countered. “We can't all be as laid back as you.”

“Whatever you say,” Haar replied indifferently. “Probably shouldn't keep the captain waiting much longer, though.”

She didn't really know what to think about the new captain, Tauroneo, a transplant from one of the smaller precincts. She was cautiously optimistic about having a new boss, though. She didn't really lean one or the other toward the old one, Alder, but he'd been let go for his involvement in the scandal with Jarod. Like just about anyone who'd ever met Jarod, she didn't care for the man, but she didn't put much stock in what the media said about him. She'd never personally seen him go off on a civilian, so who knew how much of that was true. He treated his own men like dirt, though, and that was despicable.

Stifling her nerves, she knocked on the door, and she and Haar were both ushered inside.

“Good morning, sir,” she said as she entered the captain's office. Haar mumbled out a bored greeting of his own, and she bit back a sigh at his insubordination. Tauroneo, at least, didn't seem offended.

“Detectives, a good morning to you as well,” he said. He stood up and held out a hand. “You must be Jill. I don't believe we've been introduced yet.”

“I look forward to working with you, sir,” she answered, shaking his hand. Tauroneo chuckled lightly.

“I'll say the same. You're Shiharam's daughter, aren't you?” Jill froze, but Tauroneo only smiled and continued, “I worked with your father in our younger days. He must be proud to see you carrying on the family legacy.”

“I hope so.” And she really did. She wouldn't be so nervous right now, otherwise. She wasn't just representing herself here. Shiharam hadn't left the force because he wanted to, and the circumstances weren't great. People liked to talk, but her father hadn't even done anything wrong.

“I can't imagine he'd feel any other way. My own son-” Tauroneo cut himself off and shook his head. “Sorry, I'm getting off-topic. I did have a reason to call you in here. Things have been rather hectic with the way Jarod left us. Fortunately, nothing too extraordinary has happened in the past month, but recently we keep getting reports of some sort of gang activity that I need you to look into.”

“Gangs, huh?” Haar repeated. “That's not the kind of thing we're usually assigned to. Any reason this one stand outs?”

“We're not entirely sure it _is_ a gang,” Tauroneo answered. “But there's been a string of petty crimes committed throughout the city, and whoever is doing it is leaving a calling card.” He took out a photo that depicted a compass-shaped graffiti tag. “It's starting to upset some of our residents.”

“The rich ones,” Haar stated matter-of-factly, and Tauroneo didn't deny it.

“It doesn't matter who's complaining,” Jill chided him. “It's illegal either way.”

“Precisely,” Tauroneo said. “Now, here's what we know so far. The graffiti has been popping up all over the city for at least the past month, but as of this week, we're dealing with break-ins and petty theft alongside it. Rumors flying around attribute the work to a group called the Dawn Brigade. In some circles, they're practically heroes.”

“They're criminals!” Jill cried incredulously. “What kind of hero goes around stealing and defacing private property?!”

“A surprising number of folk heroes, actually,” Tauroneo said with a considering look. “In any case, that's the public perception, so be aware of it. When you find them, be very careful, and don't give them any reason to believe they're being persecuted. We're under enough fire as it is after Jarod.” 

Tauroneo briefed them further on the break-ins, and after that, Jill followed Haar out of the captain's office. Before they left to start investigating her first real case, there was something she wanted to grab out of her new desk. Haar leaned against the desk as she rifled through the drawer, until she found the little dragon pendant her father had given her when she'd graduated the academy a few years ago. It was silly, but it felt like a good luck charm, and she wanted all the luck in the world on her side right now.

“Don't go laughing at me,” she warned Haar.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he said, and then he started for the door. “C'mon, we've got work to do...I guess.”

“Right,” Jill said, burying the last of her nervous energy. “Where should we start?”

* * *

Emmeryn found coming in to work this morning had been a trial in and of itself. The street in front of the capitol building was crowded with protesters: on one side were the separatists calling for their 'freedom' from the central government, on the other were the nationalists calling for nothing less than war on the 'traitors'. The only thing they agreed on was their distaste for Emmeryn's policies.

They were hardly alone on that count, either. When all this talk of rebellion had first begun, the rest of her cabinet had been completely supportive. But as the situation deteriorated, they became increasingly resentful of her initial call to avoid any full-scale military operations. She simply couldn't justify sending armed forces in against her own, mostly unarmed, civilians. Even now, when things had spiraled so quickly out of control, she couldn't regret that choice.

Yet she doubted her present company cared to hear her explanations. Walhart had made it quite clear from the start that he disapproved. This morning, he was reporting the latest confirmed news out of Plegia, and his findings surprised her.

“The Emblem is claiming responsibility?” she repeated what he had just told her, disbelieving.

“For the assassination, at least,” Walhart answered gruffly.

“But why would they-?”

“The word is that you hired them to take care of Validar, and Rosanne too.”

Emmeryn could only stare at him, too stunned to speak. There were so many issues with that statement, she wasn't sure where to begin.

“I don't understand how the people could believe something like that,” she finally said.

Walhart scoffed. “They're weak-minded fools looking for any excuse to justify their own treason. The 'logic', if you can call it that, is that Rosanne was a warning to Valm. As for the assassination, Validar was pushing for secession and the central government needed him out of the way.”

“That's absurd,” Emmeryn gasped.

“Oh, I doubt most truly believe it,” Walhart said with a laugh. “But it makes for a good story.”

“Are you enjoying this?” she had to ask. Most days, she was able to write off his less noble qualities, confident in his dedication and ability, but today, he seemed almost manic.

“Enjoying what? Seeing your little empire crumble in exactly the way I always said it would if you continued to be so weak-hearted?” Walhart answered with a sick smile. But it faded as soon as it had come, and he shook his head. “Hardly. You're not the only one they're targeting. As of the most recent rumors, I was ousted from Valm and now I'm pulling all the strings here, the minister's puppet-master.”

“I hadn't realized. I'm sorry.”

But the manic grin had come back to him and he only chuckled darkly and said, “They'll find I'm not quite so easy a target as you, minister.”

Rather than dwell on what that particular threat meant, she turned the topic to finding the mastermind behind it all. Henry had indicated their next step would be Plegia, but the borders were a mess right now. First, she had to find a way to smuggle him in, and then she had to find a way to keep him safe. Getting him back out was another problem entirely.

“Sure, we'll just drop him off in the middle of the Dragon's Table and hope for the best,” Walhart said snidely when she asked him about it. “He's not getting in. My own men are having trouble with that. And you're just trusting the word of some Plegian brat? What makes you think he's even telling you the truth? Or do you just have warm, fuzzy feelings about it?”

“It's the only lead we have right now,” she protested, ignoring the jab. “Unless your agents have come up with something new on that front.”

His expression darkened. “They are exactly as useless as they were the last time we spoke.”

Despite her continued efforts, she was unable to get him to budge on the issue. Now she had to find some way to break that news to Panne, who had only gotten more restless as the delay in the investigation continued. It was time, she decided, to distance the taguel from the controversy surrounding the Fire Emblem. Panne had more than done her part.

* * *

Dinner was not going as planned.

And it had been a _good_ plan, Cordelia reassured herself as she took in the impending chaos before her. It all boiled down to the guest list, or lack thereof.

After tracking down Henry and facing a roadblock in getting to Plegia, Panne had taken to scouring the streets of Ylisstol in a desperate search for any new information. Cordelia and Sumia were still assigned to her protection, so they naturally got pulled along. It wasn't all bad, really – the two of them had struck up a tentative friendship with the taguel that Cordelia hoped would last beyond the investigation.

In that vein, and after learning that Panne had been living out of a hotel and on delivery food for close to a month now, Cordelia had invited her to have dinner at the house she and Sumia rented just outside of the city.

Unfortunately, without Cordelia realizing it, Sumia had _also_ befriended Henry, who was apparently involved in much deeper dealings with Ylisse's criminal underbelly than just spreading rumors. While Walhart's investigation was on hold, he was being sent out as an informant by the 1st precinct, so he was often under a protective detail himself. Cordelia had to admit she should have seen the invite coming. Sumia was too friendly for her own good sometimes.

In any case, Sumia had the bad luck to invite Henry (and Sully and Stahl, who were apparently assigned to watch him) over on the same night Cordelia had invited Panne. It was not going well. For whatever reason, the man had seated himself directly next to the taguel at the dinner table and then refused to leave her alone for even a moment.

“Hey, do you eat meat?” Henry asked, poking around his own plate. “That'd be pretty weird for a bunny. Wow, just imagine carnivorous rabbits! Nya ha, think of all the blood!”

“Don't play with your food,” Panne scolded. She didn't look up from her own dish, and her voice only contained a hint of a growl to it. Cordelia had to admit, she admired her restraint. Thus far, the woman had gone to great lengths not to respond to any of Henry's incessant ribbing, and she was downright calm when she did speak.

The rest of them were hesitant to intervene. Well, aside from Sully, whose non-interference looked to be due more to boredom than any discomfort. But Henry was an odd young man, and Cordelia wasn't sure how he'd react if she tried to stop him. Sumia and Stahl both looked so uncomfortable as to be in physical pain.

“I wouldn't really call this playing,” Henry continued, unbothered. “Now, when I was a kid, I owned this dog – well, it was more like the dog owned me, I guess, isn't it funny how that works? – and hoo boy! You should've seen her with a rabbit, now _that_ was playing with your foo-”

Panne stopped eating and, without warning, shot one hand out to grab Henry by the back of the neck. While the rest of the table jumped up to interfere, she forced his head down to the table with a strong grip and growled.

“Stop it,” she ordered simply, and then she let him go. His head bobbed back up and he blinked slowly, a little frown on his face that disappeared almost immediately.

“Oh, okay,” he said.

Amazingly, that seemed to signal the end of Henry's antics for the evening. For the rest of dinner, he was...quiet wasn't the word for it, but he wasn't overtly antagonistic, at least. And in the new calm, Panne became more talkative, freely bringing up the subject of their work. The conversation naturally steered toward the situation in Plegia and the rumors surrounding the prime minister, though Panne showed no interest in those.

“Emmeryn wouldn't do that,” she said simply.

“Obviously,” Sully agreed with a laugh. “Anyone who's talked to the girl for more than half a minute could see that. Anyway, the point is, you wanted to go to Plegia, right? Gonna be tough with the borders closed like that.”

“I'll find a way in,” Panne said, nose twitching in what was a apparently a sign of irritation.

“What will you do when you get there?” Stahl asked. “Plegia is a big place, and you don't even know who you're looking for.”

“Isn't that why you're keeping the little man around?” Panne said, nodding toward Henry, who very nearly frowned.

“What? Hey, I don't wanna go back there! I like it in Ylisstol,” he said. He brought a hand up to his chin in thought and tilted his head, then added, “I'm pretty sure the guy you're looking for was headed _away_ from Plegia anyway.”

The entire table suddenly went silent, save for Henry's childish humming. Sumia was the first to gain her bearings. “Er, Henry, when you say he was leaving Plegia...”

“Huh? Did I not mention that before?” 

_“You did not,”_ Cordelia said, exasperated. Sumia coughed politely and made a quick motion with her hand, one they'd used in the field before: _Let me handle this._

“How do you know that?” Sumia asked sweetly. Henry thought about it.

“Well, we first met by the northern border of Plegia and Ylisse, you know? But he left before me, and he was going north. That's the time I told all the detectives about, when he told me about a bunny in Rosanne. But then I saw him here in the city again, a little while before Panne found me. I followed him for a bit, and when he left, he was going east.”

“Why...why didn't you tell us this before?” Sumia asked, completely shocked. Henry only shrugged and went back to gleefully stabbing his fork into his meal.

“He's a scary guy,” Henry said. “I figured it was better if you didn't get involved. But it seems like you guys can be pretty scary too! Nya ha ha!”

Cordelia was at a complete loss. This was definitely something that needed to be reported to their bosses ASAP...just as soon as she managed to work it out in her own head. How had Henry managed to keep that information from them for so long? He had been questioned so many times. How had no one noticed? How had _she_ not noticed?

In the end, for fear of scaring Henry off, they finished their dinner in relative peace. When Sully and Stahl shepherded him out at the end of the evening, Cordelia offered to drive Panne back into the city and to her hotel. It was something she intended to do anyway, but it seemed doubly important now.

“What's east of here?” Panne asked predictably during the drive.

“A lot of places,” Cordelia answered. “But nothing of any particular importance, at least not that I recall.”

“Hm.”

“Just be patient, please,” she said. “Don't go running off on your own. We'll figure this out together, I swear.”

“You'll help me then?” Panne asked.

The truth was that Cordelia didn't feel as though she had much of a choice. If they left Panne alone, the woman would take off in pursuit of their mystery man, and there was no telling what would happen if she succeeded. If she didn't get herself hurt (or worse), she would almost certainly end up committing a serious crime. But Cordelia knew that sort of reasoning wouldn't deter a woman like Panne.

“Of course,” she said instead. “I swear it.”

* * *

Three weeks in, and Soren was nearly ready to set Sanaki's files on fire. He'd been through them with a fine-toothed comb multiple times over, and still he couldn't find her alleged abuses. He prided himself on his meticulous eye, and this was starting to feel like a personal failure. 

He didn't care for that.

Consisting mostly of dull meeting transcripts and repetitive budget reports, Soren recognized plenty of items to take fault with – but nothing strictly illegal, or even particularly immoral for high-ranking politicians. (On that note, he had come across some enlightening reports on his own father's misdeeds, the contents of which hadn't surprised him in the least. In fact, he suspected the Senate had overlooked some of his worse transgressions, though whether that had been intentional was debatable.)

For the number of hours he had put into this job, the results left a lot to be desired. Thus far, the most inexplicably bizarre occurrence was how uniformly the Senate had started to cast its votes over the past year. It wasn't something the average person would notice without the transcripts sitting right in front of them – Vice-Minister Lekain and his party had taken majority years ago, and they easily passed any measure they found palatable.

But the records had always shown a noticeable minority in opposition. Over the past year, those names had slowly started to sway toward Lekain's vote. Virtually the only opposing voice left in the senate was the prime minister, Sephiran, who was also Sanaki's uncle and undoubtedly the reason he was staring at these files in the first place.

It was suspicious, but hardly proof of anything on its own. And it wasn't as if the senators were going to announce on record that they'd been bought, or blackmailed, or whatever it was that had caused the sudden change.

As was becoming increasingly common, Soren boxed the files away again, completely at a loss. Perhaps, he admitted to himself, it was time to call in some help.

* * *

Ike found it was a relief to have the senator's case out of the way. Oliver was sitting behind bars in Crimea now, so that was one headache removed for the entire company. When it was all said and done, Sanaki said he'd probably be transferred into Begnion's custody and placed under house arrest. Even if he got out, with the kind of coverage he was seeing in the news, the senator wouldn't be able to so much as jaywalk without someone noticing.

True to form, Greil Investigations was just as busy as ever, working with more standard clientele. But at the moment, there was no job to be done. It was Saturday, and Ike found himself regretting his most recent promise to his sister: that they would spend a day together doing whatever she wanted. 

He probably should have guessed that would mean an entire afternoon of window-shopping, but in his defense, she'd been moping ever since she lost her necklace and it was getting hard to take. He still held out hope that by the end of the day, she'd get hungry and he could at least get a good lunch out of the deal. (Of course, knowing Mist, her idea of a filling meal was salad at one of those overpriced cafés where everyone wore huge glasses.)

“Oh! Look at that shop!” Mist squealed. “Those dresses in the window are so cute! C'mon, we have to go inside!”

“What? Why do you need more dresses? Can you even fit anymore in your closet?” Ike asked. He could just feel his dreams of lunch slipping further and further away. Mist pouted.

“Don't be a sourpuss,” she chided. “You promised today would be fun. Start having fun!”

“So...you want me to get excited about dresses?”

“I'm not looking for a miracle, Ike. I'll settle for you just _pretending_ to be excited about dresses. Honestly, is that so much to ask?”

He considered it. “I'll go in the dress store, but we're going to the steakhouse after.”

_“Ike,”_ Mist groaned, a horrified look on her face. She paused and looked at him slyly. “What about that cute little coffee shop down the street instead?” 

He knew his suspicions weren't unfounded. Crisis averted.

“Hey, those are my terms,” he said with a shrug. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, “but I'm not paying for you. My wallet can't handle that.”

That was a fair point. “Deal.”

The street they were on was crowded. Mist went to reach for his arm, apparently planning on dragging him over to the store bodily. It was by pure chance that he happened to look to the right, absolute luck that he saw the hooded man approaching fast, and some blessed instinct that he pulled his sister out of the man's path without really thinking about it.

It happened so quickly it took a minute to sink in. One moment, Mist was standing in front of him, smiling carefree, and the next she stumbled a little and looked up at him, a childishly confused expression on her face. She looked down to her side, where red had started to seep through her dress, and touched the tear in the fabric with a disbelieving look. Then she looked back up, and the panic had started to set in.

“Ike?” she whispered. And then she fainted, right into his arms.

For a moment, the entire world fell away. He forgot where he was; he didn't recognize the girl in his arms. There was a shadow at his shoulder. He started to panic-

And then it was over, and his breath came back. It had only taken a moment, but when he looked into the crowd, the man was gone. No one even seemed to have noticed anything wrong. Then, all at once, he realized what happened. As loud as he could, he yelled, “Someone call an ambulance!”

* * *

_His partner was getting worse by the day, that much was obvious. He very nearly welcomed his loathsome disciple into their fold, solely because it meant there would always be another eye watching over the madman, keeping him from recklessly destroying their plans again. The further his partner strayed from reason, the more work he had to take on himself. The child, at least, was proving to be considerably more useful than his father, though of course there was a limit to how much he could be told. Could be trusted._

_Had he accomplished his most recent job? He doubted whether the child was capable enough for that, whether he ever would be. But even a failure here would feed into a greater success down the line, if he chose it. After all, Tellius was not his concern – let his partner worry about that._

_Victory was so, so near._


	8. 2-2

Mist was in a bit of a bind. She recognized and appreciated that what had happened to her was scary for everyone, but she wished her family would give her a moment's peace.

Last week, when she was out with Ike, some psycho had rushed by and nicked her with a blade – but that was all it was, just a light scratch! Not even deep enough to need stitches! Unfortunately, she'd gone and fainted for how scared she'd been, and then her ridiculous brother had gone and dragged her to the emergency room. They disinfected the cut and after a quick interview with the police, she was on her way back to her dad's house.

“I can't believe you called an ambulance,” she teased Ike on the ride over. “Talk about an overreaction. That was so embarrassing!”

She was hoping for a lighthearted response, something about her fainting dead away being way more dramatic, but Ike didn't rise to the bait. He only looked at her strangely, and the rest of the ride was silent. It seemed highly unfair; after all, she was the one who'd been attacked! Shouldn't he be trying to comfort her or something? Acting normal would be best, but she'd settle for overbearing affection over this weird quiet.

When they finally got home, Ike, their father, and Titania went off to have a long conversation she wasn't invited to, leaving her alone in the living room to pout, which was also unfair. They all came out of it looking miserable, which she thought maybe they deserved.

“We're going to have some new rules around here,” her father announced.

And from that point on, she was never alone. There was no more walking to and from school – either her dad or Titania drove her now. And when neither of them could be home, they dropped her off at Ike's. She liked the apartment above the office just fine (she even stayed there some weekends to be closer to the city), but she didn't like being under house arrest.

And it was even more unreasonable around the office. Parents, at least, were supposed to be overprotective, and she could give Ike a pass for that too. But then he somehow roped Boyd into it, and he was at least as bad as Ike with his persistent hovering. And Rolf was constantly checking in at school, which was a sweet gesture, but she really didn't need a 100-pound sophomore bodyguard. And what if he got hurt trying to protect her? Not that she needed protection, but if she did, what exactly was _Rolf_ supposed to do?

The last straw was when she sneaked out of the office for a minute just to get some air, and Soren followed her. _Soren_ , of all people!

“This is getting out of hand,” she said. “You can't seriously think I'm in any danger standing out here in broad daylight!”

“It's for your brother's peace of mind,” Soren answered evasively.

“What about _my_ peace of mind? He's being so ridiculous! You all are!”

Soren didn't refute the point, but he didn't leave either. Mist's only consolation was that he looked at least as unhappy about it all as she was. She sighed and reached for the medallion that wasn't there any more – she'd always had a habit of toying with it when she was feeling blue.

“How long do you think they're going to keep this up?” she asked miserably. When Soren didn't answer, she complained, “If you want to keep me company, you at least have to talk to me. Come on, I'll settle for one-word answers here.”

Soren sighed. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. “Your family is convinced the attack was related to the senator's case.”

“It wasn't, right?” She hadn't actually considered that.

“Doubtful. As far as anyone knows, Ike just happened to be there when Oliver was arrested, and most people don't know even that much. There's really nothing tying any of us to him.”

“So tell that to Ike and my dad!”

“Titania, as well,” Soren muttered. More clearly and with obvious annoyance, he said, “I've tried.”

“Well, I'm getting really fed up with being treated like some damsel in distress,” Mist complained. But it was becoming clear that the situation wasn't going to resolve itself any time soon. She had really hoped they would all calm down on their own if she just let their worry run its course.

_What a pain,_ she thought. But there was nothing for it: she would just have to put her foot down.

* * *

When things first started slipping out of her control, Micaiah was able to reason away the worst of her worries. The calling card they'd been leaving behind started popping up independently of the Dawn Brigade and in association with petty crimes, but her group, at least, hadn't actually committed any wrongdoing. (And she wasn't sure anyone else had, either. Every crime so far had been to the benefit of Daein's less fortunate citizens, and the only 'victims' were rich old misers – no one who didn't deserve it.)

But when the police started sniffing around, the problem became hard to ignore. Before the news got wind of the story, she knew it was time for another talk with her friends. She called their next meeting as soon as she had the chance, feeling a sort of dread.

It was unsurprising but still a little crushing to see all of them looking so hopeful and lively. For the longest time, all they'd ever gotten was bad news, and this recent turn had been so great for morale. She couldn't think of the right way to break the news to them, to tell them they had to stop before things went too far.

“Thanks for coming,” she told them, stalling for time. “I know we weren't supposed to meet today, but something came up. I don't know if you guys have noticed, but there's been more police patrolling our usual haunts this past week or so.”

“They're a little hard to miss,” Nolan said with a wry smile. “But none of us have had any trouble. We're all careful not to draw any unnecessary attention, and your intel always keeps us well away from them.”

“My intel...” she repeated quietly. That seemed as good an opening as she was going to get. “That's what I wanted to talk about.”

“Is there a new job?” Edward asked excitedly. “Maybe it's because of the patrols, but it feels like we haven't had as much to do lately! Do you think our guy's been recruiting other people too?”

“You've noticed the signs, then,” she said. “That symbol he was having us mark the city with. Someone else has been leaving it around, too, and I don't think they're just copying us.”

“So, more allies for us then!” Edward said. “But why wouldn't our guy tell us about them?”

“ _Are_ they allies?” Leonardo mused. “One of my cousin's storefronts was broken into last week, and our card was left behind. I know none of us would ever do something like that.”

“Oh, Leonardo,” Micaiah said quietly, “I had no idea. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Frankly, there were some shady things going on there anyway, so it's not like he didn't have it coming. But that doesn't mean I'm okay with _us_ breaking the law like that.”

“No, and I'm not either,” Micaiah agreed. “That's really what I wanted to talk to you all about. I know how important this stranger's tips have been to make a change in Daein, but I don't like the way things are going. I'm afraid if we don't back out now, things will just get worse, and we could end up in a very dangerous situation.”

Immediately, the others starting offering their thoughts.

“But if we leave now, we're right back to square one,” Edward said. “Back when no one listened to us and no one cared about the way Begnion was treating us. I don't want that!”

“Would you rather end up doing something illegal?” Leonardo asked.

“Exactly how illegal are we talking here?” Tormod interrupted. “Like, on a scale of one to ten...”

“I am genuinely curious as to what number on that scale you think is acceptable.”

“How about none of them,” Aran offered.

“If...if the good outweighs the bad,” Laura said timidly, “maybe it's worth it.”

“No offense, but I don't buy into that 'ends justifying the means' crap,” Aran said. “I didn't sign on with you guys to break the law; I did it to help. And Laura, you and I both know better. All this does is make us look like the bad guys.”

“Speaking from past experience, it's not necessarily bad for publicity,” Nolan said. “If the news reports play up the 'just desserts' aspect of it all, the desperation involved gets people talking about Daein's general situation in regards to Begnion. But, like Micaiah, my real concern is that things seem to be escalating.”

“You've noticed it too, then?” Micaiah said.

“It was one thing when it was just a bit of graffiti here or there, and it's easy to overlook some of the unproven things like the accusations of slander, but we don't need our name associated with anything like burglary. Who does that even help? Unless they're redistributing the money to the masses, it's just senseless crime.”

“I'm worried it won't end there,” she admitted. “And I don't like the thought of the press glorifying it all, even if it helps us. I'm happy that people are paying attention now, but I don't want to send the wrong message. And I don't want any of us getting mixed up in that sort of thing, either.”

“What if we make that choice for ourselves?” Sothe said. “You don't need to feel responsible for all of us. We can make our own decisions. Those who want to leave can do so at any time.”

“I know,” she said, “but I'm still the one who brought this situation down on you to begin with. And we're all so good together! I don't want to split us up.”

“Then why don't we do it like before?” Nolan suggested. “We all trust you, isn't that right?” Each of the others nodded, even Aran, if hesitantly. “So we'll leave it up to you, and whatever you decide, we'll respect it. You have a good heart and good instincts. Do what you think is right.”

It was moving to know they had so much faith in her, but she wondered whether their newest members would actually follow through on that promise. Not that she would fault them, of course. And in the end, it didn't matter, because she had known her choice from the moment she called them here.

“I'm just not comfortable with putting you all at risk like that,” she decided. “I'm calling it off. We'll just have to find another way.”

The meeting came to a somber close after that, but she headed back to her apartment confident that she'd made the right decision. Later that night, the stranger called right on time, just as she expected.

“I've got another job for you,” he said when she answered the phone.

“And I've got some questions for you,” she answered. There was silence for a moment, then a long sigh.

“Haven't we been over this? I'll tell you what you need to know, and nothing more.”

“This is something I need to know.”

“Finish this job, and I'll consider entertaining an answer or two.” Before she could stop him, he started in on the details. “It's my understanding that one of your little friends is handy with a lockpick. You're going to break into a building in the Palmeni district-”

“That's-! Absolutely not! We're not going to break the law!”

The man on the other end let out a sharp cackle of glee. “Do you not realize who I am yet? Do you honestly think you can say _no_?”

“I don't care _who_ you are,” Micaiah said, trembling with anger. “Nothing you say or do can make me change my answer. We're done with you.”

“You stupid, foolish girl. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Fire Emblem? I'll assume you have; everyone has. So you should know that we have no compunction about removing anyone we assume to be a threat. And we are thorough. We know about you, we know about your family, we know about your friends and _their_ families. Do you understand me? You are going to do this job, and you won't question me again.”

The call disconnected with a distinctive click, and Micaiah stared at the phone in her hand wordlessly, trying to process everything she had just heard. _There's no way,_ she thought. _There's just no way..._

* * *

Panne was blindsided when Emmeryn called their deal to a close. Perhaps she had underestimated the severity of human politics – it was the only explanation she could think of, because one day the minister was begging for her help, and the next, she was flat-out ejecting her from the investigation into the Fire Emblem.

“You've more than done your part, and I'm grateful beyond words,” Emmeryn told her. She had called Panne into her office, an occurrence that was not unusual this past month, but the message certainly was. It was not what she expected to hear.

“But we still haven't found whoever was behind this,” Panne said. The message she had _hoped_ for was a lead on the Plegian or some way into the country. Even if Henry had been correct about the stranger's destination, there was obviously something happening in the south similar to Rosanne, and that made it relevant to her purposes.

“That's not something you need to worry about any more,” Emmeryn said, a distressed look on her face. “Please leave that to us. I shouldn't have pulled you into this mess in the first place.”

Wasn't that true? Panne wondered. Certainly, she had felt that way at the start of all this. So why did she so desperately want to remain a part of this investigation?

The truth was bitterly obvious, and it all came down to her solitude. It had been so long since she had lost her warren, since she'd been a part of something. Since anyone had relied on her. Since she had trusted anyone else.

Betrayal. That was what it felt like. How foolish! For all her posturing, Emmeryn was only another selfish human. This had been a mistake, Panne could see that clearly now.

“I've outgrown my usefulness, is that it?” Panne said.

“That's not-”

“So be it. I won't concern myself with your affairs any longer.”

She stood to leave, and Emmeryn made no move to stop her. There was her answer, then. No matter. She had always taken care of her own problems. She wasn't going to disappear, not for anyone's sake. And she wasn't about to forget her grudge, either.

Panne would find the Fire Emblem, and she would make them pay. If she had to do it herself, then that was fine.

She didn't account for her police escort waiting outside the building, and they startled her out of her reverie when she walked through the doors to the street outside. Cordelia and Sumia were waiting on the steps of the building, and both smiled kindly at the sight of her. Panne found it demeaning, certain they had known about all of this before she had come here. She didn't need their pity, or to be their cruel entertainment, or whatever scheme they had in mind.

“That was fast,” Sumia said. “What did Emmeryn have to say?”

“That you can leave me be,” Panne growled. “I'm no longer involved in this case. Your protection is no longer required.”

“What was that?” Cordelia said. “That doesn't sound like Emmeryn. And in any case, we take our orders from Captain Phila. Until she says otherwise, we'll be sticking around.”

Panne stopped in her tracks and glared. “I don't want you near me,” she said. “But I don't suppose that means a thing to you humans, does it?”

“Panne!” Sumia cried. “Why would you say something like that? I thought...I thought we...”

Panne turned away at her hurt expression and tried resolutely not to feel any guilt. They had started it, she reminded herself. If they were going to treat her like a tool to be discarded, then why should she worry over their hurt feelings? With that in mind, she turned and started walking again. Behind her, she heard Cordelia mutter something to Sumia, and then the light footfalls that indicated one of them had followed her.

“Panne,” Cordelia said when she had caught up, “please tell me what happened.”

Panne spared a quick glance over her shoulder and noticed Sumia was standing a ways back, head turned down and shoulders hunched in a defensive, hurt posture. Cordelia, on the other hand, looked only confused.

“You tell me,” Panne answered derisively. “You were all in on it, weren't you? Deciding I was no longer useful and getting rid of me.”

“Of course not! And like I said, Emmeryn wouldn't say that, either. What on earth did you two talk about?”

“Exactly that. She said I should no longer trouble myself with _your_ investigation, so I won't.”

Cordelia grabbed her shoulder to stop her. Panne shook off her hold but stayed in place, arms crossed.

“Panne, I don't like the sound of that,” Cordelia said. “What do you mean by 'our' investigation? You're a part of this too. Let's go back and talk with Emmeryn again. I'm sure we can work this out-”

“She made her opinion perfectly clear,” Panne said. “You don't need me anymore, and I don't need you. I can take care of this quicker on my own, so go back to following your orders and leave me be.”

This time, when she turned to leave, Cordelia grabbed her hand instead, and Panne snatched it away angrily and with a low, warning growl.

“Listen to me,” Cordelia said. “I don't understand what's going on here, but Sumia and I, we're not worried about you because someone told us we ought to be. We're worried because you're our _friend_ , and we're not about to let you go off and get yourself hurt because you're angry! Even if...even if Emmeryn _did_ take you off the investigation, that doesn't mean you have to leave the city. Whatever it is you're planning, do it here.”

“Why should I do that?” Panne asked.

“Because that way, when you need us, we can help you. Let us help you, Panne.”

Still rubbing her hand defensively, Panne stared at Cordelia's earnest face with skepticism. Blind trust had gotten her into this mess to begin with. It had only caused her trouble, and she'd be a fool to fall for it again. But a small voice of doubt crept into her mind and she wondered whether she really could do this on her own. Would it be so terrible to agree to her terms? It wasn't as if it were a binding contract; she could always change her mind later. She tried to ignore the fierce and honest determination in Cordelia's eyes.

Before she could second-guess herself any further, Panne made a decision.

“I accept...for now.”

And she wondered, would she ever escape being the fool?

* * *

Mia didn't think anyone was enjoying the end of the senator's case more than her. She'd barely got to do anything the whole time it was going on, stuck at the desk answering calls or opening mail. She wasn't built for work like that – she needed to be out there, _doing_ something!

But she _had_ picked up a new habit those few weeks. The office got so boring, she discovered a new appreciation for her smartphone. She used to wonder why people needed so much junk on a thing that's only purpose was making calls, and now she knew: it was to stave off horrible, inevitable boredom.

There was one site in particular she'd gotten hooked on these last few weeks, something an online buddy had pushed her toward. It was a website based out of Nevassa, an entertaining mix of conspiracy theories and local news, and she loved every bit of it. 

The stories were really something else. Outspoken old man dies in his sleep? Actually a government-ordered assassination to shut him up. Weirdly dressed people gather in the city center? Someone's opened a gate to another dimension. The Senate passes an unpopular restriction on Daein business? Whole thing is backed by lizard people. (Mia wasn't sure if they meant Goldoans or, like, actual, man-sized lizards. The details were unclear.)

So she was excited when she checked the site that morning and saw a new Daein story had broken. It caught her attention right from the first paragraph, because it sounded like something out of a thriller: a mysterious group upends a whole city, their unknown symbol the only evidence left behind! And it looked like a lot of the stuff they took credit for involved exposing corrupt businessmen or criminals. There were even a few known cases of straight-up charitable donations.

Realistically, Mia knew vigilante justice was probably not a great idea in the long-run...but it made for a heck of a story. She was especially interested in that design being spray-painted all over Nevassa, the one no one recognized. The best description the site could come up with was 'compass-like', but they linked to an actual photo too.

She clicked the link and frowned. A compass, huh? Yea, she could see that. And these guys didn't know what it meant yet? She grinned. She never thought she'd actually get to be a _part_ of one of these crazy stories! She knew just who to ask about that tag.

Mist had a necklace with that exact design.

* * *

Ike was being completely reasonable, no matter what Mist said.

She had cornered him in the back room of the office, pointedly shut the door, and then started lecturing him about boundaries and respect and personal privacy and then there was something about the trials of womanhood that went completely over his head, but he thought that part was probably just Mist being dramatic. The whole thing was just Mist being dramatic, really.

How was he supposed to react to his little sister getting attacked by a stranger in the middle of the city, and when he was right at her side, no less? Obviously he was going to keep a close eye on her and make sure it never happened again. How was it his fault that she didn't seem to understand how serious the situation was?

(He resolutely ignored the alarms in the back of his mind, the reminder that his reaction hadn't exactly been ordinary. There was a piece of time that just wasn't there in his memory, from right after Mist had fallen, but it was only a minute or so. It wasn't something to worry about. Mist, on the other hand...)

“Are you even listening?” Mist whined.

“I can hear you just fine,” Ike answered.

“Hearing and listening aren't the same thing,” she said sagely. She ruined the effect by immediately sticking out her tongue.

“Then I'm _listening_ just fine,” he said. “What do you want me to say? I'm not gonna stop worrying about you just because you think it's annoying. You were attacked! Do you not get that?”

“It was just bad luck! Do _you_ not get _that_?!”

“Yea? And what if it wasn't? Our company just got a senator arrested, and his hands were far from clean. What if it wasn't luck? What if it happens again?”

“Oh, please,” Mist said. “Even Soren says that's paranoid.”

“Soren is wrong.”

“Don't let _him_ hear you say that.”

“This isn't funny,” Ike chided. What did he have to say to make her understand that? Mist glared at him and clenched her fists at her side.

“I know that!” she yelled. “Which one of us is the one that actually got attacked, huh? But I'm not gonna let it stop me from living my life! Do you even care how I feel about this, or do you and dad just care about your stupid egos? Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean you can treat me like a child!”

“That's not what we're-!” Ike stopped when he realized he was dangerously close to yelling back. He looked up at the ceiling and took a few breaths, then sighed. “That's not what we're trying to do,” he said evenly. “You think dad wouldn't do the same thing if I were in your place?”

“You think _you_ wouldn't be just as annoyed if you were in my place?” Mist countered. 

Ike had to admit she had a point...had to admit it to himself anyway. He figured Mist probably didn't need to know that. 

Either way, the argument was interrupted when the door slammed opened suddenly and one of his employees bounded in with a chipper smile.

“Hey boss, is Mist around today?” Mia asked, head down and staring at her phone. When she looked up, her grin became tense and she let out a nervous laugh. “Er, am I interrupting something here? Sorry, sorry, I'll just...”

“Could you come back later?” Ike asked at the same time Mist said, “Mia, tell Ike he's being dumb!”

“Uh...” Mia looked between them nervously and started to back away. Ike figured he had already lost whatever ground he'd gained in that argument, and he was technically on the clock right now, so he might as well hear her out.

“Never mind,” he said. “What is it?”

“No, really, I can come back, it's not really work-related, so-”

“It's fine, Mia. What did you want?”

Still looking a little wary, Mia held out her phone and tilted her head.

“Yea, so, I was just wondering about that necklace you're always wearing, Mist,” she said. “It's got a pretty unique design to it, you know?”

“I know,” Mist mumbled. Apparently bringing up their mother's medallion had sapped all the fight out of her. Ike wished he could actually enjoy that, but he knew how torn up she was over losing it. He thought about telling Mia to drop the subject, but Mist was right about one thing: she wasn't helpless. If she didn't want to talk about it, she'd say so.

“So do you know what it means? Like, where it came from or anything?”

“No,” Mist said. She looked confused. Hell, Ike was too, so he couldn't really blame her. “Why do you ask?”

“See, there's this weird thing going on in Daein right now, and, well...here, why don't you take a look?” Mia handed off her phone to Mist. As she read whatever was on the screen, her confusion gave way to shock, and when she was done, she gave the phone to Ike as well.

His first thought was that, judging by the headlines, whoever made this site was completely out of their mind ( _'Treehouse leads to Astral Plane'_ – really?), but then he got to the story Mia pointed out, about some crime spree in Nevassa. That graffiti tag was identical to Mist's medallion.

“Does it say when it started showing up?” he asked, handing the phone back to Mia.

“It got really prevalent this past week, but the first sighting was actually almost a month ago,” Mia said. “Huh...I guess around the time we finished that last big case. How about that?”

“Oh, _come on_ ,” Mist groaned. Ike leveled a serious look her way, and she wilted. “I know, I know,” she said. “But don't you _dare_ say I told you so!”

Why would he do that? It wasn't like he _wanted_ to be right. All he wanted was for his sister to be safe, and between the senator and whatever was going on in Daein, he was twice as worried as he had been when she first walked in here.

But at least now he knew and he could do something about it. It was time to call in a favor from Elincia.

* * *

_He didn't enjoy dealing with his partner's mess in Tellius. There were times he considered abandoning the project entirely, but some foolish sentiment held him back, some scrap of affection for the man that pitiful creature once had been. But the work there was frustrating, dreadfully dull, and it took great effort just to keep it moving forward._

_When the girl refused his offer, it had the opposite effect on him. Suddenly, there was a challenge, a tiny, easily surmountable one, but a challenge all the same. An opportunity for him to show the world what he was truly capable of, to flex his power in a way he hadn't been able to in years._

_Did she think she was free of him? He hoped so. It would make crushing her spirit so much sweeter._


	9. 2-3

Her mother's medallion had always been a mystery, but it had never bothered Mist. From the first day she wore it, she didn't care where it had come from or whether it had any hidden meaning. It was her mother's, and that was more than enough. Sometimes, she imagined what it could have been: a romantic gift, or a tragic keepsake, or any number of other fantastic stories, but she didn't really expect any of them to be true. It was just a fun idea, and in the end, it didn't matter.

Now, it mattered. Someone was using the design from her mother's necklace in Daein, and they started just a little while after she'd lost the necklace itself. At the very least, she was starting to think that its disappearance might not have been her fault. Maybe someone had stolen it. Apparently, it had more meaning than she realized.

After Mia showed them that news story, Mist and Ike both agreed they should learn more about the medallion. And the best person to give them that information was their own father, so when Ike took Mist back to Greil's house that night, he followed her inside. Titania met them at the door.

“We need to talk to dad,” Mist said without preamble. “He's home, right?”

“In his office, I think,” Titania answered with a note of surprise. “Is everything alright, you two?”

“I'll fill you in later,” Ike said, moving past her and into the house. Mist sighed and followed. As she passed Titania, she shrugged apologetically, and her stepmother offered a troubled smile in return.

Their father was right where Titania said he would be, and he barely spared them a glance when they burst into his study. “You're back early,” he said without looking up from the book he was reading.

“Hello to you too,” Mist said. Ike wasted no time with pleasantries of any sort.

“Mist, show him that thing online.”

“There's a computer right there, so why don't you do it?” she complained. Her brother's ability to actually use technology seemed to change on a day-to-day basis, but even he was capable of plugging a few words into a search bar. Ike shot her a scathing look and she crossed her arms in response. Nope, she was done being bullied for today. Ike shook his head, then walked over to the computer and started typing. Their father watched the exchange with an amused look on his face, though it didn't last long after he saw the webpage.

“That's definitely the same as your mother's medallion,” he muttered, staring at the computer screen. “Mist, the necklace is still missing, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she said. “I've never seen anything else like it before. Have you? Did mom ever say where she got it?”

“No,” he answered. He went quiet, a thoughtful look on his face, and then he sighed. “Mist, leave us alone for a minute.”

“But-”

“That wasn't a request.”

And that was just typical, wasn't it! Wouldn't the two of them ever get tired of treating her like a child? But she knew that look on her dad's face, and it wasn't one that invited argument. She could stomp her feet and yell or worse and she still wouldn't get her way.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I'm not happy about it.”

“Duly noted.”

* * *

When Mist had gone, Greil looked at his son carefully. The children had been so young when Elena died, but Ike at least was old enough to have understood, on some level, what had happened. The only saving grace was that his youth had apparently blunted some of the awful things he had seen. In truth, Greil had hoped they'd never have this conversation at all.

“Ike, what do you remember about the day your mother died?” he asked.

Ike winced and looked away. Greil wondered if he was recalling the interviews with the police, the visits with the psychologist, the night terrors. He wondered if Ike even remembered any of those things. The doctors had a term for what had happened to his son back then: selective amnesia. Not that they'd ever had much luck in treating it.

“I think most of it's just things I picked up from the police report,” Ike muttered.

“When did you-?”

“A couple years ago. Got it from a friend.”

A friend in Gallia? Greil was reasonably confident he knew who that was. He was going to have a talk with Caineghis about his subordinates. “We'll talk about that later. What do you _personally_ remember about that day?”

“Nothing,” Ike answered quickly, still looking away. Was he lying? Greil shook his head. His son had many talents; lying was not one of them. Which begged the question: why would he lie about that?

“Nothing at all?”

“No.”

Greil could still recall every second of that day, from the moment he learned his wife was dead. It was midsummer and he was at work, Elena at home with the kids. She'd sent them out to play that morning, like usual. Their house was so far removed from the town, no one even realized anything amiss until he returned home on his lunch break and found her there on the floor. A robbery gone wrong, the police said. They caught the perp easily enough, some strung-out lowlife with a rap sheet as long as the Mainal was tall.

One stray bullet and she was gone. He had been the one to find her body, and to this day, he still had occasional nightmares about it.

That was why he couldn't imagine what Ike was lying about. Yes, Elena had sent the children out to play that morning, but for whatever reason, Ike had gone back home. Greil had found her body, and he'd found his son, too, hiding in his bedroom closet in a near-catatonic state. Later, the police and the doctors both concluded that he had witnessed her death. Greil only found her body; Ike watched her die.

That his son couldn't remember the event anymore at all was something Greil took for a blessing, never mind what the doctors wanted to call it. But if Ike was remembering things now, that was an issue in and of itself, regardless of whatever else was going on. The trouble was actually getting the kid to admit it. Greil didn't think that was in the cards tonight.

“I'll see what I can find out about the necklace,” he said, instead of confronting the elephant in the room. Ike visibly relaxed, and that only solidified Greil's suspicions. “In the meantime, keep an eye on your sister...and look after yourself, too. If you think of anything, tell me right away.”

“Yes, sir,” Ike answered, defaulting to that obedient tone he'd always used as a child. Greil sighed. This was one of those times he most wished Elena was still around. She'd always been able to get through to their stubborn kids.

Ike left soon after that, and Mist, still angry over being left out, went back to her room in a huff right after dinner. Titania, wonderful woman that she was, assured him that she would talk to Mist. When he told her his suspicions about Ike, she was equally worried, and he supposed that made sense. She knew all the details as well.

“You really think it's connected to Elena, then,” she said.

“Or at least that thing she always carried around,” he answered. “I honestly hoped Mist just lost the damn thing, but this is one too many coincidences for me. I just don't know why anyone would want it.”

It brought about another chilling thought. All those years ago, when Elena had been killed, her murderer confessed it was part of a botched burglary, but he refused to say why their home had been targeted in the first place. And the man was found dead in his cell not long after that, so they'd never gotten an answer. Greil had never considered that he might have been after the medallion. The thing was so old it was charmless, but not old enough to be worth any money. As far as he could tell, its only value was in Elena's sentimentality.

He thought that was why-

No. Apparently not. And Ike didn't remember any of it, anyway, so it hadn't seemed important at the time. Greil cursed and shook his head. It was a hell of a thing to have overlooked.

* * *

The first one she told was Sothe. Right after the call, before she had even really processed what it meant, she called him. He answered on the first ring, and when she could barely spit out two words without stuttering, he told her he'd be right over. She only noticed how late it was after she'd already hung up the phone, and she thanked Ashunera for Sothe's dependability.

He was at her apartment in no time flat, standing at her door with a put-out look on his face. “The Black Knight stopped me outside,” he said. “Is he gonna call down the whole of Nevassa's police force on me?”

When she didn't even crack a smile at the nickname, he started to look worried. “Micaiah, what's going on? Did something happen?”

For whatever reason, that was the moment the implications of the phone call really sunk in. She was caught up with the Fire Emblem, the group that had singlehandedly brought down an entire nation and made regular threats to do it again. The group that was currently terrorizing another country just across the shore. No, more than that – she had gotten her _friends_ caught up with the Fire Emblem!

“I've done something terrible,” she whispered, horrified. “Oh, Sothe, you have no idea... What am I supposed to do now?”

“Calm down and talk to me,” he urged. “Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.”

“It really, really is.” As he guided her to the couch to sit down, she told him everything that had happened. Once the words started spilling out, there was no stopping them. Sothe listened to it all with an impassive face.

“I don't...I don't know what to do,” she said at the end of it. “How could I have been so stupid? Sothe, I just-! I just wanted to help, that's all, and now you're all...”

Her voice trailed off and for a few long moments, the two of them sat there in silence. Sothe had a contemplative look on his face, and she figured he was probably trying to piece together everything she'd told him.

“How do you know this guy is telling the truth?” he finally said.

“That would be a bold lie,” she answered. “And think about all the information he's given us. If he says he knows our identities, I don't doubt it.”

“Still, he's never used your name, has he?”

“Well, no...”

“And he's never mentioned your grandma or your sister, either?”

“No.” She was starting to understand what he was getting at. “And if he knew who I was, that would have been the first thing he brought up, wouldn't it? But he's never once suggested that he knew he was talking to a member of the royal family...”

“...so he probably doesn't know as much as he thinks he does,” Sothe finished. “You're worrying too much. And everyone else knew the risks when we got involved, so don't go falling for this guy's threats just because you're worried about us. You said we're done, so we're done.”

“Do you really think it will be that simple?” she asked, but she was already starting to feel hopeful about the situation.

“It _is_ that simple,” Sothe said, “so stop worrying about it.”

By the time he left, Micaiah felt much calmer and confident about her decision. The stranger claiming to be the Fire Emblem could threaten them as much as he liked, but the Dawn Brigade had standards and morals, and they wouldn't be a pawn in someone else's twisted game. _Let the creep do as he will,_ she thought. _We're not playing anymore._

* * *

Cordelia thanked her lucky stars she had been able to talk some sense into Panne earlier that week after the disastrous visit with Emmeryn. As far as she knew, the taguel had been lying low at her hotel since then, waiting on new information promised to her by the detectives. It was a relief to know that Panne trusted them enough to give them a chance to work it out together, and Cordelia intended to follow through.

Today was her first day off since then, and mid-morning, she set out to fulfill her promise. She headed over to the 1st precinct in search of either Henry or the detectives he was working with to discuss the bombshell he'd dropped over dinner last week. They'd been able to extract a little more information with a formal interview afterwards, but there were still some pieces missing.

She walked through the doors of the station and was surprised to see the prime minister's younger sister waiting in the entrance, flipping through a magazine with a bored look on her face. She looked up as Cordelia entered and flashed her a sunny smile. 

“Oh, hey Cordelia. You looking for Chrom?” Lissa asked.

“W-what? Why would you think- _No!”_ That teenage crush was almost a decade behind her now – would she _ever_ be able to hear his name without getting flustered?

“Ugh, that's probably a good thing, then,” Lissa said, making a face. “He's been acting super weird lately, no fun at all! I switched all his shoelaces to tie at the bottom and he still hasn't noticed. He does look pretty stupid, though, if you want a laugh.”

“That's...interesting,” Cordelia said, for lack of a better reply. She used the blank pause that followed to steer the topic back to what she actually wanted to say. “Have you seen Sully or Stahl around today?”

Lissa scrunched up her nose.

“Is this about that creepy kid who's been hanging around here? The one who's always doing that weird laugh and making dumb bird puns?”

“That does sound like Henry,” Cordelia admitted with a sigh. Lissa rolled her eyes.

“Yea, he's here now, actually. They're all having some kind of meeting, and they won't let me in. Joke's on them, though! Once I'm out of training, I'll be the best cop in this city!”

“You're in the academy?” Cordelia asked, surprised.

“Why does everyone give me that look when I say that?” Lissa pouted. “I'm an adult! An aduuult! If Chrom can do it, so can I!”

Cordelia laughed lightly. “I don't doubt that,” she said. “The city will be lucky to have you. Anyway, did they say how long the meeting would last? Why don't I treat us to lunch while we wait for them to finish?”

Lissa happily agreed, and the two of them spent the next hour chatting over tea and sandwiches at the café down the street. When they returned, the station was much busier, the meeting apparently having ended. Cordelia tracked down Sully with relative ease, and to her fortune, Henry was with her. They seemed to be having some sort of argument as she approached.

“And would you stop tossin' insults at all the mob goons? Keep it up, and someone's gonna put a good dent in that pretty-boy face of yours,” Sully was saying.

“But they make the best expressions when you bring up their mothers!” Henry chirped back happily, eliciting a groan from Sully. Cordelia coughed politely to get their attention.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I hoped we could speak for a few minutes, all three of us.”

“That Plegian crap again?” Sully said. She crossed her arms and frowned. Cordelia smiled diplomatically and nodded. She wished she'd brought Sumia along; she seemed to get along with Sully much better. Cordelia, for her part, wasn't really sure how to interact with the tougher woman. She got the impression Sully didn't much care for her, either.

“Just for a bit, and only if you're not too busy,” Cordelia said. Sully shrugged and pushed Henry forward. He stumbled, but it seemed to entertain him more than anything, judging by his wild laugh.

“Go for it,” Sully said. “Conference room is free now. We can talk there.”

She led them into a nearby room and closed the door behind them. The three of them sat down around the edge of a long table, Sully looking impatient and Henry practically giddy with anticipation.

“I've been doing some research into eastern Ylisse,” Cordelia said. “You mentioned the Plegian was headed that way, so I tried to look up some significant locations out there. There really aren't any big cities or tourist destinations, which leaves us with cultural and historical landmarks, basically... unless he had more personal reasons for his travels.”

“What, like visiting family?” Henry asked. He seemed tickled by the prospect. “He was a pretty plain-lookin' fella, but they say there's a soulmate out there for everyone!”

“...Perhaps,” Cordelia said. “Though if that's the case, I'm afraid we don't have any means to track him down. For now, though, let's assume he had some other reason to go out there, something related to this Fire Emblem business. He's only targeted notable cities so far. The only noteworthy location out east is...well, the reservation.”

“The res?” Sully asked, interest piqued. “The one with all the dragons and stuff?”

“Right. Mount Prism is a manakete reservation. It's not exactly heavily populated, but it's certainly important.”

“Huh. Seems like kind of a stretch to me.”

“You're not wrong,” Cordelia admitted. “Honestly, it's just that I need _something_ to work with, or...” Should she mention Panne? Technically, she wasn't breaking any rules by doing this, but that didn't necessarily mean her superiors would approve. Of course, she also didn't think Sully would tell anyone...but Henry might, intentionally or otherwise. “It's just a start,” she finished lamely. “So, Henry, is it possible that the Plegian was going to Mount Prism?”

“Eh, I guess so,” Henry answered. “Y'know, he was pretty old, though. Aren't manaketes supposed to be super-cute young girls?”

“That's a stereotype,” Cordelia said with a sigh. “And a rather silly one, if you ask me. There are plenty of old manaketes, and plenty of male ones, too – how else would they even still be around? Anyway, I wasn't suggesting the Plegian was one of them, just that he might have an interest there. He's going after politically unstable areas, and our country has a very rocky history with the manaketes, to put it lightly.”

“Almost as bad as the taguel,” Henry added helpfully. “You know, you've got a point. I think he even brought up dragons that time he told me about Rosanne. I thought he just had a weird hobby!”

As tempting as it was to delve into that statement, Cordelia wasn't sure she was up for it just then. For now, she was satisfied just to have someplace to start looking, enough to appease Panne. She didn't really believe it would lead to anything concrete, but at least she could say she was putting in a good faith effort. Maybe by the time they'd gone to Mount Prism, Panne would see how far out of her depth she was, and she'd let the feds handle things.

Or maybe she'd just find some new way to get involved.

 _I'll cross that bridge when I get to it,_ Cordelia reassured herself as she said goodbye to Sully and Henry. Right now, she had a trip to plan. This weekend, when she and Sumia both had a day off, they'd pick up Panne and take a drive out east.

If there was anything hidden at Mount Prism, the three of them would find it.

* * *

“If you think of anything else, call us,” Jill said, handing her card to the businessman she and Haar had just interviewed. The man's shop was the latest in a string on burglaries on this street, yet another victim of the 'graffiti gang', as they were jokingly called around the precinct. Going by local gossip, a more common term was the colorful epithet, the Dawn Brigade. In the past week, the number of reported incidents had shot up. Logic dictated that the more active the gang got, the more likely it was they would slip up and leave some sort of clue behind as to their identity...but so far, Jill wasn't having any luck.

“This is getting depressing,” she said to Haar as they left the shop behind. “We aren't getting anywhere! What are we doing wrong?”

“Why do you think we messed up?” Haar said. “Maybe the punks are just that good.”

“They've got the entire business district running in circles,” Jill said. “I'm not saying they're not good, but we've got to be better. The people here are counting on us, after all.”

Haar snorted. “They're counting their money, and that's about it.”

Jill glared at him, but it didn't seem to have any effect. Haar could be a very obstinate man sometimes, and she didn't understand it. He had a good heart underneath all that gruff posturing. This was the same man who had almost quit the force in protest of her father's treatment three years ago, for crying out loud! But out in public, he'd act all tough like this.

“You're a real mystery,” she muttered. She thought she saw him grin in response.

They were halfway down the street when a young boy came running out of nowhere and almost bumped right into them. He looked up at them with wide eyes and a nervous expression, tugging on the ends of his shirt.

“Hey, you're police, right?” he said timidly.

“Yes,” Jill answered. “I'm Detective Jill Fizzart. Can I help you with something?”

“Um. Maybe. I think so? Uh, or maybe not...”

The child fidgeted nervously and looked about two seconds from bolting. Jill bit back a sigh. She had no idea how to act around kids, and she definitely didn't want to scare him. To her surprise, Haar rolled his eyes at her and knelt down to face the child at eye level.

“What's up, buddy?” he said. “I'm Detective Haar. You know the police are here to help, right? Why don't you tell us what's going on, and we'll do everything we can, alright? Let's start with an easy one: what's your name?”

“I'm Nico,” he said shyly. “Um...but I don't want to get in trouble. Cause there's something I wanted to tell you, but you can't tell anyone I said it or my mama will know I broke one of her rules.”

“It'll be just between us then,” Haar said. “Promise.”

“Okay...” Nico gulped. “The other night, I was out playing – but I'm not supposed to go out past dinner, that's what you can't tell anyone – and me and my friends were at the park over there.” He pointed down the street. Jill didn't know it offhand, but they weren't far from a residential neighborhood, so it wouldn't be a strange place for a small park.

“We were walking back home this way,” Nico continued, “and we saw some weird people in front of Mr. Marlon's store.” That was the name of the businessman they'd just spoken to, the victim of the latest break-in.

“When was this?” Jill interrupted.

“Last night,” Nico said. “And this morning, everyone was saying Mr. Marlon got robbed. But the people last night were looking at that funny picture on the window and saying some real strange things.”

He had to be talking about the graffiti tag on the front door. “What kinds of things, Nico?” she asked.

“Well, they were real mad about it, and they said it made them all look bad.” A determined light came into his eyes and he said, “So you see, it's not the Dawn Brigade that's been doing all the bad stuff! It's someone else trying to make them look bad.”

Jill smiled sadly and wondered how she was supposed to explain a situation like this to a child. “Maybe it is someone else,” she said indulgently. “But even if it is the Dawn Brigade, they're breaking the law and making trouble for a lot of people. So it's our job as police officers to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

“But the Dawn Brigade wouldn't hurt anyone! They're on our side!”

“Alright,” she said. “Nico, the people from last night, can you tell me what they looked like?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled. He shifted uncomfortably.

“You know it's very bad to lie to the police, don't you?” Jill asked. Nico flinched back as if struck. His eyes began to wet and his lower lip trembled pathetically. Haar sighed and shot Jill a withering look.

“You're not in trouble,” he told the boy. “I know you want to protect those people, but we really need to talk to them. They could help us find out who broke into Mr. Marlon's store. He could really use your help right now, Nico.”

“Well,” Nico said quietly, “if it's for Mr. Marlon...I guess I can tell...”

“Atta boy.”

“But mister, you're just gonna ask them questions, right? They're not in any trouble?”

“We just want to talk,” Haar lied, expression unchanged. Nico smiled in relief, trusting him easily.

“Okay then.”

A few minutes later, they saw the boy off, a new suspect description acquired. Nico told them he had seen two people in front of the store last night, a woman with white hair and a man with green hair, both young and pale-skinned, both beorc.

“Uh, Haar,” Jill said nervously when they were alone again, “does that description...sound a little problematic to you?”

“This is more trouble than it's worth,” Haar muttered. “A young, white-haired beorc girl – there aren't many people who fit that description in all of Tellius, let alone Nevassa.”

“No,” Jill agreed with a frown. “But I do wonder who she was with.”

* * *

_There was something utterly euphoric in the moments before a plan came together, a pure joy in knowing things that no one else did. He savored those moments, fantasizing about the way it would end, how his pawns would react._

_It was getting so close now to the right time, the time when he could reveal all of their work to the world and watch its people clamber in awe at the brilliant chaos he'd wrought. The child worked well enough as a tool in the darkness, but now it was time to let in the sun. Perhaps his partner would even enjoy the ensuing chase._

_It was time to show Tellius just who they were dealing with._


	10. 2-4

Locked away in the back room of the office, his preferred hiding spot at work, Soren flipped through the pages of the ledger. Their finances weren't the most riveting subject, but they needed to be checked by someone, he supposed. And he didn't much like the thought of Boyd in charge of the company credit card.

He was interrupted from the dull work by a light knock at the door. He glared at it for a few moments, but when that didn't make the noise stop, he figured he should probably open it. He grabbed the ledger and walked to the door, propping it open slightly while he continued to read.

“I'm rather busy at the moment,” he said without looking up. “Can this wait?”

“U-um,” a weak voice stuttered. _No,_ he thought. _That can't be him. Why would he come here?_

Soren looked up to find exactly who he'd suspected: his brother, Pelleas. Ike stood behind him, sporting what Soren thought was an entirely inappropriate grin.

“He says he's your brother,” Ike said. Soren didn't much like the idea of glaring at Ike, so he turned his gaze toward Pelleas instead. His younger brother fidgeted in place, clearly uncomfortable.

“You. What do you want?” Soren said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. Half the reason he'd left Daein in the first place was to get away from his family, Pelleas included, so he didn't feel any guilt for the acidic glare he directed at his brother. Despite his considerable height advantage, Pelleas was practically shaking in his boots.

“Um, mom wanted me to. Well. That is, you never return her calls-”

“Pelleas, I'll give you exactly 60 seconds,” Soren said. “When those 60 seconds are up, I'm shutting the door. Understood?”

“But-!”

“59. 58. 57-”

“Okay, okay! Stop!” Pelleas yelped. He took a deep breath before he continued. “Mom sent me with some files out of dad's office. She says it has something to do with what you asked her about. Um, you're not doing anything illegal, right?”

Soren didn't respond. He certainly hadn't asked his mother for any favors, but he _had_ called his father to ask a quick question about those files on the Senate. Now his mother was sending him records from the highest office in Daein, probably without his father's knowing. Soren knew about the state of affairs in the area, but he'd never given it much thought. Either his father had finally gone so far that even his mother was disgusted (unlikely), or she thought there was something in those files her son would want. He decided.

“Give me the files.”

“Okay, I, er, I've got them right here in my bag,” Pelleas said, looking relieved. He pulled a thick envelope from the messenger bag around his shoulder and handed it to Soren (who quickly snatched it away, avoiding any physical contact).

Pelleas stood there for a moment. Soren stared back at him.

“Go,” he said finally, making a shooing motion with his arm.

“Oh, uh, is that all?” Pelleas said, nervously glancing to the side. “I just thought, we haven't seen each other in a long time, maybe we could get lunch or something-”

By Ashunera, the boy looked so pathetic even Soren almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Go home.”

“Oh...okay,” Pelleas said, his shoulders slumped. “I'll see you some other time, then.”

As Pelleas walked down the hallway toward the exit, Soren had to wonder at why his brother was so damned intent on being his friend, given the way Soren treated him. The boy was touched in the head, no doubt.

“For brothers, the two of you aren't much alike,” Ike said after Pelleas had gone.

“He's adopted.”

Ike paused for a moment. “Your parents don't seem like the type to adopt.”

“Yes, it's one of life's great mysteries,” Soren replied. He could feel a headache coming on. And he still had to read the damn ledger.

* * *

That meeting with his father about the medallion had been more uncomfortable than enlightening, so Ike was relieved to move on to his next avenue of investigation. He was still convinced the attack on Mist was related to Oliver, so it seemed reasonable enough to assume he was connected to...whatever was going on in Daein.

He tried to push away the constant thought that he just wanted to be done with this case. It felt selfish, considering he wasn't the one in trouble here. Speaking of, Mist had tried to tag along today, too, but at least he had an honest excuse not to let her.

“It'll be hard enough to convince Elincia to let me see him,” he'd told Mist. “She's not gonna let a high schooler into the jail, too. And even if she did, do you know what kind of problems that could cause her?”

“Fine,” Mist relented. “But only because I don't want to get Elincia in trouble! And for goodness' sake, don't just barge in and ask her for a favor. Show some tact, at least ask her how she's been or something first. Oh, and tell her I said hello!”

His plan was, in fact, to just walk in and ask, and he figured it would probably work. He and Elincia had been friends for years, and his directness had never bothered her before. Besides, it wasn't like he set out to offend people. He just didn't really see the point in beating around the bush, and right now, time was a factor. The sooner he could figure out how deeply the senator was involved, the sooner he could start focusing on tracking down his sister's necklace.

He'd never liked the medallion. It bothered him that he felt that way, given that it was his mother's keepsake, but it was the truth. For as long as Mist had been carting the thing around, Ike had gone out of his way to avoid looking at it. He was grateful that she insisted on wearing it all the time, though, because it meant he never had to touch it himself. For some reason, the thought of that made his skin crawl, and he wasn't a superstitious person.

He was so distracted by his thoughts (another unusual thing for him, what was going _on_ lately?) that he nearly bumped into someone on the sidewalk on his way into the prison. He looked up to mumble an apology and stopped short. That was a face he hadn't expected to see in Melior.

“Reyson? What are you doing here?”

The Heron looked at him with some surprise, then smiled grimly.

“Tying up some loose ends where the senator is concerned,” Reyson said. “Unfortunately, that did require a visit to the prison and a meeting with the...well, I hesitate to call him a man. It might have been worth it, had he actually told me anything I wanted to hear.”

“That so? I'm on my way to see him myself,” Ike said. “Maybe I can get him talking.”

“Oh, he talks plenty,” Reyson muttered. “Anyway, much as I'd enjoy the attempt, I doubt it would help. It's not related to his current charges. He insists he had nothing to do with it, and for all I know, he's telling the truth. It was wishful thinking on my part, anyway.”

“What exactly were you asking about?”

“An unsolved murder from about fifteen years ago. My sister's, actually.” Reyson spoke with an almost defensive aloofness, the kind that made Ike suspect he was reliving an old hurt and trying to conceal it.

“Sorry for your loss,” he said. If Reyson didn't want to talk about it, it was probably kinder to offer a few words of sympathy and let it go – Ike had some personal experience in that area. Reyson gave him a troubled smile and tilted his head.

“I've had years to come to terms with it,” he said. “But my father...I hoped I could bring him some closure. He never really recovered from Lillia's death.”

 _Lillia._ At the mention of the name, Ike felt his own shoulders stiffen, hands involuntarily clenched into fists, the sound around him dulled to a whine for a split second before everything righted itself again. He looked around, prepared to fend off questions about his reaction, but it was apparently brief enough that Reyson hadn't noticed. That was a small comfort, since he wasn't sure what had brought it on in the first place.

He'd heard the name before, he was sure of it. He just couldn't remember where.

“Why did you think Oliver would know something?” he asked quickly, trying to cover up that bizarre reaction. Reyson scowled.

“Because that fat pig is neck-deep in the slave trade, and Lillia was killed for it. We were never able to find out what happened, exactly. She must have tried to run-” Reyson stopped and cleared his throat. “In any case, he had nothing to say, so now I've wasted an entire afternoon on that. I do hope you have better luck.”

“So do I,” Ike agreed.

Actually getting to Oliver was another task, but it didn't take much convincing. Following Mist's advice, he'd had the foresight to call ahead and let Elincia know he was coming. When he got there, she was waiting for him inside the prison and greeted him with a welcoming smile.

“I've spoken with the warden and I can let you in,” she told him, “but not alone. I'll be accompanying you.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed. He would have preferred to go it alone, truthfully, but he recognized that Elincia was doing him a favor. Besides, he trusted her with the information and knew she wouldn't overstep her bounds where his family was concerned.

“Oliver is in a fair amount of trouble right now,” Elincia explained as he went through the security checkpoint. “He made bail not long after his initial arrest, of course, but then he attempted to flee Crimea. Twice. His well-equipped team of attorneys is still trying to get him extradited to Begnion, but for now, he isn't likely to go anywhere for some time.”

“Twice?”

“I try not to pass judgment on anyone,” Elincia said sagely, “but he certainly is an... _ambitious_ man.”

“That's one way to put it.” 

Elincia laughed lightly at his tone. When security had cleared him, she led him through the prison to the visitation room, which was empty save for the miserable-looking senator, chained by his wrists to a sturdy metal table. Ike couldn't decide whether the bright orange jumpsuit made him look more or less ridiculous than his usual over-the-top get-up. His eyes brightened when Elincia entered, though any joy there disappeared the second he caught sight of Ike.

“What's this?” Oliver muttered sadly as they entered. “Dearest Elincia, why would you sully your presence with such an unpleasant person? Beautiful people ought to stick with their own kind, don't you agree? You and I, for example, would get along splendidly, if only you'd visit more often!”

Elincia stared at him blankly. Ike couldn't exactly blame her for that.

“Is he always like this?” he asked.

“It does seem that way,” Elincia whispered. “It can be...trying.”

Ike shrugged and pulled out a chair from the table. He leaned forward and Oliver leaned back, an expression of exaggerated disgust on his face, and Ike briefly reconsidered whether he _really_ needed to be here. Unfortunately, the only answer he could come up with was a resigned 'yes'.

“I've got some questions for you,” he said. “Answer them, and I'm gone. Understood?”

“I don't waste my time on lesser beings,” Oliver said dismissively. Looking toward Elincia, he remarked, “He's both ugly and rude! Why would you bring him here? Couldn't you bring back that exquisite Heron? He left so quickly, and I had so much more to say!”

Ike thought back to all those weeks ago, when Tibarn had given him free license to hit the man. He suddenly wished he'd taken him up on that offer. Instead, he waited as patiently as he could for Elincia to work her magic.

“Oliver, please,” she said, sounding a little strained. “There's no need for that. I would personally and sincerely appreciate your cooperation in this matter.”

The senator let out a very put-upon sigh and said, “Only for you, my dear.” Then he looked at Ike, bored, and said, “Well, get on with it.”

 _Gladly,_ Ike thought. Out loud, he said, “Someone's been targeting my sister ever since you were locked up. Got any thoughts on that?”

“Your sister?” Oliver looked genuinely confused, but Ike got the impression he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. “If she's anything like you...no, not really. I've already told you, I have no interest in-”

“I'm not asking about your _interests._ I'm asking who it is you've got chasing after my family, and why.”

“Me? You think that I...ha!” Oliver burst into laughter. “By the goddess, why would I care about someone like you, let alone your family? Surely you realize someone of my elevated station has better things to do with his time than to waste it on...on faceless _nobodies!”_

“Wait one moment,” Elincia said suddenly, walking over to the table. She glanced at Ike, giving him a look that said not to interrupt. “Oliver...do you not recognize this man?”

“Am I supposed to?” he answered.

“Ike was present when you were arrested...don't you remember?”

The senator paused a moment, seeming to turn that information over in his head. Then he shrugged. “I recall that splendid Hawk fellow towering over me, magnificent in the late afternoon sun! Oh, the electricity between us in that final showdown, all over that frightful misunderstanding – I shiver now just thinking about it! Say, do you think he'll be by again? I'd love to-”

“Focus, Oliver! You really don't remember anyone else being there?”

“Hm. No one important. Why? ...Do you mean to say this ruffian was there, and now he thinks I have some sort of grudge against him? Preposterous! I really cannot emphasize enough my lack of interest in this slob.”

Ike was pretty sure he'd never been insulted so much in such a short span of time. He couldn't decide if Oliver being the source of those insults made things better or worse. Either way, he was running out of patience. He pulled the pictures of the graffiti in Daein out of his pocket and slid them across the table.

“Just look at these, would you?”

“Hm? Oh, those look just like that silly necklace. Why are you showing me this?”

Ike couldn't really find it in himself to do more than stare at the senator, mind blank. All the trouble he'd gone through dealing with Oliver's obnoxious personality, and the man was just going to give himself up like that?

Elincia leaned over the table to stare at the pictures herself, a confused look on her face. “What necklace, Oliver?” she said absently.

“Oh, just some trinket I saw...where was it again? Oh, yes-” Oliver stopped suddenly, face turning red. “Or, you know, maybe I made a mistake. No, on second thought, I can't recall ever having seen something like that! What were we talking about? It's been a long day, and I really don't see why I should continue speaking to you, so let's just end this now-”

“Oh, I don't think so!” Without thinking, Ike stood up and slammed his palms down on the table, leaning forward.

“Ike!” Elincia warned. Taking hold of his arm, she led him back and away from the senator. “Perhaps...perhaps we should continue this another day.”

He started to protest, but stopped at the stern look she gave him.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. He stopped himself from looking back at Oliver on his way out. It wasn't like it would do anything besides frustrate him even more. When they were clear of the cell and back outside the center's walls, Ike turned to Elincia and crossed his arms. 

“What was that about?” he asked.

“You tell me,” she countered. “What was all that about a necklace? And you never told me someone was after Mist! I heard she was hurt a few weeks ago, but you never told me she was targeted specifically!”

Elincia sounded upset with him, and he had no idea how to respond to that. He wasn't sure what the problem was in the first place. “As far as the police are concerned, it _was_ random,” he said.

“If you thought otherwise, why didn't you come to see me? You know I would have listened to you.”

And then she would have brushed him off like everyone else, Ike thought, but he knew better than to say it out loud. Besides, it wasn't her problem, and it hadn't occurred to him in the first place that she would want to get involved. She had her own job to worry about. The latter, at least, he was comfortable saying out loud.

“We're friends, aren't we?” she said. “You've helped me in the past without question, so if you're in trouble, just ask. If there's nothing I can do, I'll say as much.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” he said, mostly because it seemed to be what she wanted to hear. It seemed to cheer her up at least a little, anyway.

“Good. Now, then, as for Oliver and why I took you out of there...I recognized what he was doing, when he started deflecting about the necklace. Of course he knows something, but he wasn't about to say what.” She paused. “Over the past month, I've had...multiple opportunities to meet with Oliver about his current case, and that's the exact same way he responds when he's asked about his colleagues in the Senate.”

“So you're saying they're somehow involved?” That seemed...unlikely. Ike felt like the whole situation was slipping further and further out of his grip. What would the federal government want with his sister? It was one thing when he thought it was just Oliver's personal vendetta, but the whole Senate? That veered straight into conspiracy theory territory. Thinking about it only fed into his frustration with it all.

“I don't know,” Elincia said. “I'll keep working on him and see what I can find out. In the meantime, tell me about that necklace, and those pictures. I'll try to look into those as well.”

Ike wasn't sure how much luck she'd have there, but he knew Elincia would try, at least. He left the prison wondering if he'd gotten any closer to figuring things out, frustrated over his own failure. It was starting to feel like all of his efforts were coming up empty.

* * *

When Cordelia told Sumia about her plan to go to Mount Prism, the woman was almost childishly excited for it.

“Oh! I've heard it's beautiful there, especially in the spring! Hm...I know they get a lot of tourists, but you don't think we'll be a bother, do you? It's technically a reservation, after all – do you think the manaketes get upset with the humans going in and out all the time?”

“We're going for work, not a vacation,” Cordelia said with an amused smile. She knew from experience that, unless she was interrupted, Sumia could ramble on until she worried herself sick. It was one of the qualities Cordelia had found baffling at first, but it was endearing now.

“Right,” Sumia said. She took a deep breath to calm down. “What will we do when we get there, though? Do we even have any leads to follow?”

“Not really,” Cordelia admitted. “But Panne...”

“Yea,” Sumia said sadly. She was obviously just as worried about their friend.

Two days later, the three of them climbed into Cordelia's SUV and drove east. On the way there, it quickly became clear that Panne was not familiar with the manakete tribe, or at least she misunderstood who they were.

“I wasn't aware of dragon taguel in Ylisse,” she said when she learned where they were going. “I thought my tribe was the last here.”

Cordelia couldn't help but feel guilty at the poorly disguised hope in her voice. “The manakete aren't quite the same as the dragon taguel,” she explained. “At least, the two tribes don't identify much with each other, but it _is_ possible they share a common origin. Anyway, the dragon taguel are only found in Tellius, but there used to be manakete populations all over the world.”

“Used to be?”

“Well, of course. Ever since the Scouring...”

Panne stared at her blankly. Was it possible she didn't know about something that horrible? The Scouring had basically amounted to coordinated genocide, decimating the already small manekete population worldwide. Even though it had occurred nearly half a century ago, Cordelia didn't think the atrocity would ever be forgotten. She didn't think it _should_ be. She explained it as succinctly as she could.

“Ah,” Panne said. “That was not unlike what was done to my tribe, then.”

“Right, but on a much larger scale. About twenty years ago, Ylisse granted the area around Mount Prism to the manakete tribe as their ancestral land, and most of the remaining manaketes migrated there. It's essentially a living monument to their culture, now.”

The rest of the three-hour drive to Mount Prism went surprisingly well, spent mostly in peaceable silence. But when they arrived there just past one o'clock, Cordelia almost had to physically restrain Panne to keep her from running off on her own. It was hard to do, distracted as she was by the scenery.

Mount Prism was beautiful. Everyone said that, but Cordelia realized words simply couldn't do it justice. The breathtaking mountain for which it was named could be seen from miles away, but when you actually stood before it, it gave off a different impression. It seemed quieter, ethereally serene. The very air felt different. She likened it to walking into a grand cathedral, which she supposed made sense – after all, this was said to be the birthplace of Naga worship.

Their first stop was the visitor center at the foot of the mountain. The portion of Mount Prism open to the public ended not far beyond that, with a small, touristy business district. The peak of the mountain was opened only sporadically, and the area to its east, which Cordelia thought housed most of the remaining manakete population of both Ylisse and her neighbors, was closed to visitors at all times. It wasn't a very big area in the greater scope of things...but then, there weren't many true dragonkin left.

The visitor center was relatively quiet, only a few tourists around, but they all seemed to be focused on one thing. Small wonder, Cordelia thought. The woman manning the front desk was absolutely stunning, dressed in an elegant red gown, long green hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She seemed completely unconcerned by the attention she was drawing.

“Welcome to Mount Prism,” she said as they approached the desk, voice smooth and calm. “My name is Tiki. How can I help you?”

“We're here for information,” Panne said gruffly before a flustered Sumia cut her off.

“A-ah, we had some questions for you!” she corrected. 

Tiki tilted her head, sporting a bemused smile. “That's what I'm here for.”

Cordelia sighed. They had every right to be here, sure, but that didn't mean they _should_ be. And with an introduction like that, she was afraid they had just become very memorable. It was partly her fault, though – she should have made all that clear to Panne going in. She tried to salvage the conversation with small talk.

“It's our first time here,” she explained apologetically. “We just had some questions about the mountain. You know, this place really is as beautiful as everyone says.”

“We take great care to keep it that way,” Tiki said, sounding a little bored, but that was better than suspicious. Cordelia could work with bored.

“Sorry, you must hear things like that a lot with all the visitors here.”

Tiki shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose so, but it's never unpleasant to hear good things.”

“Do you get a lot of tourists then?”

“Oh, very many,” Tiki said with a smile. “It's a good thing, of course. Most leave this place with a better understanding of manakete history, and that was our only goal when we opened Mount Prism to the outside world.”

Every child in Ylisse knew the story of the dwindling manakete population and the awful persecution they'd been subjected to in the country's disturbingly recent history, but those studies always focused on what had been done to them rather than who they had been as a people before it all. Frankly, it was an interesting topic that Cordelia would otherwise have latched onto, but she'd just been offered an opening she couldn't pass up.

“Speaking of the outside, has the trouble in Ylisse impacted tourism here at all?” she asked. Tiki suddenly looked uncomfortable.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, since Plegia's closed its borders, no one can really get in or out. I just wondered if the lack of people coming from there has had an effect on your business.”

“Oh. Not particularly, no,” Tiki said, looking relieved. Cordelia took note of that and wondered what part of that subject had put her on edge in the first place. “Really, most of our visitors come from outside of Ylisse, from places where the manakete population is even smaller. Archanea, for example.”

“Oh? So are we the first Ylisseans you've seen in a while? That's a strange thought,” Cordelia said, trying for a light tone.

“Perhaps,” Tiki said, in a way that made Cordelia think she was being deliberately evasive. The trouble was that she couldn't tell if it was because the woman had something to hide, or if she was just uninterested in the conversation. There had definitely been a reaction to the mention of the political turmoil earlier, though.

“What about Plegians?” Panne asked. To Cordelia's relief, she had foregone the brusque tone from earlier, sounding much more naturally curious instead. But she may as well have shouted it, for Tiki's reaction. The woman stilled immediately, face fixed in an impassive stare.

“Not that I recall,” she said simply. “Please excuse me for a moment. There's something I need to check on.”

She retreated into some back room behind the desk, leaving the three of them staring after in confusion. Well, Cordelia and Sumia, at least – Panne looked more angry than anything. They left the center, and once they were outside, she turned to them with a snarl.

“What just happened?” she asked. “Why did she react like that? Did I ask the wrong question?”

“No, you were fine,” Sumia assured her. “That was...very strange, wasn't it, Cordelia? I wasn't imagining how nervous she got when you started asking about Plegia, right?”

“Something about that was very wrong,” Cordelia agreed. “But I can't think of any reason for the manaketes to hide a Plegian...unless, of course, he happens to be one. And in that case, I'd say we have bigger problems to worry about.”

“I don't care what he is,” Panne growled. “I'll find him, and he will pay for what he did.”

Cordelia exchanged a worried glance with Sumia. She decided to let the other address the trouble there.

“The thing is, it _does_ matter if he's a manakete,” Sumia explained gently. “For one thing, Mount Prism is technically a sovereign nation, even if it is within Ylisse's borders. If they don't want to cooperate, we can't really make them, even if we get the government involved. For another...well, human and manakete relations have always been strained. Without real, solid evidence that the person we're after is involved in something illegal, going after him could make us look very bad.”

“You have Henry's word-”

“Henry isn't exactly a star witness,” Cordelia said. “Listen, we're not saying we're giving up for good. We just want you to understand that things could get messy here. We need to play it safe.”

To her relief, Panne didn't argue, though she certainly looked ready to. Instead, she only crossed her arms and frowned.

“What do we do next, then?”

“I don't know,” Cordelia admitted. “I really don't know.”

* * *

Soren's first thought upon skimming through the files his mother had sent was that his father had far too many suspicious names on his payroll. More or less the exact amount he would have guessed, mind you, but it was still too many. And with the money the man was spending on lobbying efforts, it was no wonder the law always seemed to lean his way. Soren smirked. Ashnard actually might be in the clear legally, if not morally – he seemed to get everything he wanted even without pushing the boundaries of the law.

There was one name in particular that stood out in the list, though. Soren was sure he'd seen it before, and recently. He immediately thought of the Senate files. Had it been there? He had a growing suspicion...

He wasted no time gathering the by-now familiar boxes and flipping through their contents until he found what he was looking for.

And there it was. He finally had his connection, something to report back to the Little Empress. Before that, however, he had to know more about the details. At least now he knew where to start.

Just who was Izuka, and what was he doing for the Senate?

* * *

Marcia hadn't been back to Begnion in years. She'd joined the Royal Guard right out of school, and after that ended up taking a desk job in its Crimean branch to keep an eye on her dunderhead of a brother. She'd basically been a government desk jockey for the past three years, until the younger of Tellius's princesses decided she was going to attend a private school in Crimea, and Tanith picked Marcia as a candidate to watch over her there.

But school was coming up on a break, and the queen wanted her granddaughter home for the duration of it. So Begnion it was, whether Marcia (or Sanaki, for that matter) wanted to go back or not.

Eugh...just thinking about it made her stomach turn. She hadn't left on the best of terms, thanks to Makalov and his gambling debts. At least she wouldn't actually get there until tomorrow afternoon – Sanaki, rather than hop on a direct, privately chartered flight, insisted on taking the train so they could make a stop in Nevassa to visit her sister. It added two days to their travel, but the kid couldn't be persuaded otherwise. It was kind of shame, because Marcia _liked_ flying on the private jet, but hey, at least she'd agreed to fly back when the week was over. Quick and easy.

Now, it was early evening and the two of them were waiting for a town car outside the Nevassa train station. It was odd that the driver wasn't ready for them when they got there – the kid seemed to have all of her grandma's employees wrapped around her little finger.

“Someone's getting a pay cut for this,” Sanaki grumbled, rubbing her arms. It was spring, but the air was a bit chilly.

“I'll try calling again and see what the hold up is,” Marcia said. She reached for her phone, but at that moment, a sedan with government plates pulled up.

“Finally!” Sanaki cried, jogging over to the car without a second thought and leaving Marcia with their luggage. _Go figure,_ Marcia mused as she grabbed their two suitcases by the handles. The driver, a middle-aged man she vaguely recognized, hurried out first to open the door for Sanaki and then to help Marcia with their bags.

“What the heck happened?” she asked as the two of them piled the luggage into the car's open trunk.

“Ah...delay in traffic,” he said after a moment, so quietly she could barely hear him. His odd tone of voice gave her pause, and she realized he was openly nervous, hands shaking. She tried to smile reassuringly, feeling bad.

“Hey now, don't worry. I'll explain things to the princess and she'll understand.” And probably complain a lot anyway, but she wasn't vindictive – she wouldn't take the old man's job for it.

“Oh,” he gasped, sounding surprised. “Yes...of course, of course.”

Well, that was weird. She thought about saying more, but she was distracted by Sanaki opening the door and poking her head out.

“We're already late,” she called.

“Right, right,” Marcia answered. She climbed into the back next to Sanaki as the driver returned to his own seat behind the wheel. As they drove, though, Marcia couldn't shake that odd feeling that something was wrong.

“Hey,” she called to the driver up front, “what was your name again?”

“Kimaarsi,” Sanaki answered for him, giving Marcia a questioning look. “He's worked for my family for at least as long as I've been around. And he's never been late before, so I suppose we can keep this mix-up just between the three of us.”

The man didn't say anything in response, though he offered a shaky smile and a backward glance through the rearview mirror.

Yea, his behavior was definitely off, Marcia decided. Even if he was just a naturally nervous sort of person (which seemed unlikely, given her admittedly vague recollection of their previous meetings), Sanaki had basically just given him a free pass for screwing up. There was no reason for him to still look like a guy headed for the chopping block. Marcia scooted a little closer to Sanaki without thinking about it.

“So what was the deal with the traffic?” she asked conversationally.

It took Kimaarsi a minute to realize she was talking to him, and then he only offered her a blank stare and said, “What?”

“The traffic on the way here. You said that's why you were running late.”

“O-oh. Ah, they had part of the thruway closed off. Actually, we'll have to take a different route than usual to get to Princess Micaiah's apartment tonight.”

Marcia hummed and nodded, then tried as discreetly as possible to pull out her phone. She did a quick search for any news about any thruway closings and found nothing. Another red flag. She looked out the window and realized they would be going down unfamiliar streets before long. She had serious doubts now that Kimaarsi's destination was the one they had planned on. The trouble was getting Sanaki out without alarming her or the driver...this could be tricky enough without her panicking.

“Would you mind stopping at that gas station up ahead?” she asked, careful to keep her voice level. “I need a quick bathroom break – I didn't get a chance at the station, didn't wanna leave the princess alone.”

“Marcia, that last comment was both disturbing and unnecessary,” Sanaki said primly. Kimaarsi was silent, but he nodded and pulled into the gas station's parking lot when it came up. When Marcia moved to get out, she looked up to the front and was unsurprised to see his hands were clenched tight around the wheel. When she was standing outside, she leaned down and spoke to Sanaki.

“Hey, while we're stopped, you sure you don't have to go too?” she said. Sanaki scowled and she opened her mouth to speak, then paused and looked at Marcia suspiciously. Marcia nodded slightly, hoping she was getting her message across.

“Ah, now that you mention it,” Sanaki said, still wearing that suspicious frown. She hopped out of the car after Marcia, and the two of them went into the station. Kimaarsi's eyes seemed to trail them the whole way. When they were inside, Sanaki sighed.

“What on earth are you doing?” she asked.

“Something's not right,” Marcia said. “I'm not sure what, but he's lying about the thruway and I don't like it. I'm gonna ring Tanith and let her know what's going on, see what she thinks we should do. Meantime, just play along and...I dunno, go look for snacks in the aisles or something.”

“Because that's certainly something I would usually be found doing,” Sanaki said sarcastically, but she was starting to look a little worried. Marcia reached out and squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Everything'll be fine, I'm sure it's nothing serious,” she said. “It's my job to be suspicious, so don't get worked up, alright?”

“Of course not,” Sanaki said, mustering up some of her usual confidence. She trotted off to the snack aisle, and Marcia pulled out her phone again. She started to key in Tanith's number and hoped her boss wouldn't be too upset at a call this late.

Back turned to the store's door, she didn't see Kimaarsi climb out of the town car and make his way in. She only turned when the bell above the door chimed, and her eyes widened as he stuck his hand into his coat with a motion she knew meant he was reaching for something at his waist – _a weapon, did he have a weapon?_ – and then Sanaki rounded the corner and he was looking right at her, and he completed the motion – _and he had a gun, pointed right at Sanaki-_

Instinct took over, and Marcia leaped into his path, pushing Sanaki back into the cover of the aisle at the same time. She had enough time to yell to the cashier, “Gun!” before she heard the sharp bang and hit the floor.

* * *

_Manipulation was such a satisfying game to play. At this very moment, he knew, the pieces he'd set into play were converging. Control one of them, control them all. He resisted the urge to call the little fool and gloat over his win. Better to let her find out on her own, after all, to witness it for herself._

_It was the final piece, really._

_At this point, he'd already won._


	11. 2-5

Marcia blinked her eyes open to a white-tiled ceiling and fluorescent lights. She swallowed, and her mouth tasted like cotton. Her limbs felt like dead weight, like she'd been sleeping for way too long. And it was quiet, but she could hear muted voices and footsteps not far away.

 _Ah, crackers,_ she thought to herself. _What am I doing in a hospital?_

With some effort, she pushed herself into a sitting position and took a look around. She was in a private room – how about that? She looked down and peeked past the hospital gown to see her stomach was bandaged, but it didn't hurt too bad. Of course, there was an IV drip in her arm, so maybe she was just on painkillers. She tried to think of what, exactly, could've landed her here. Had Makalov's stupid mistakes finally caught up to the wrong sibling? 

At once, she remembered her job, Sanaki, the trip to Begnion. The stop in Daein, the car, the gas station – the gun! She looked down at her bandages skeptically. Had she been shot? She kind of remembered hearing a noise and then falling over...

Wait, what did any of that matter?! Was Sanaki okay?

She was halfway through stumbling out of bed when the door to her room opened and a familiar face wandered in, carrying a bouquet of flowers. She froze mid-movement, balancing awkwardly between bedrail and floor. Makalov, tears on his face and snot dripping from his nose, stared at her in shock. Then he dropped the bouquet, sniffed up his snot disgustingly, and starting wailing like a banshee.

“Marciaaaa!” he whined.

“Criminy, would you keep it down?!” she yelled.

“But I thought I lost youuuu!”

“Oh for pity's sake, you big baby! You're a grown man, start acting like one!”

Still sniffling like a little girl, Makalov scooped up the flowers he'd dropped and plopped himself down into the chair beside her hospital bed. Marcia worked her way back into the bed and sighed.

“Don't scare me like that!” Makalov complained. “You're supposed to be the responsible one, so what are you doing going out and getting shot?”

“I got shot, huh?” Marcia glanced down at her side again. “I was doing my job. Recognize the word? It's one of those things where you do work and then you get paid, you should try it sometime– Hey, wait a second, what happened to the princess?! Is she okay?”

“Wha-? Oh, sure, she's fine. You knocked her out of the way or something. Everyone's saying you're a big hero. Say, do they give out rewards for that? Medals or, y'know, cash or something?”

“If you weren't my brother and I wasn't attached to a needle right now, I'd pummel you for that, you deadbeat.”

“Don't be violent! I didn't mean anything by it anyway...”

“ _My butt_ you didn't mean anything by it!” Marcia huffed. She glanced at her brother, who didn't look anywhere near as cowed as he should have been. What was she supposed to do with this fool? All their lives, he'd been nothing but trouble...but now, waking up in the hospital, he was the first one at her side. Ugh, dropping him would be so much easier if he didn't have those one or two redeeming qualities.

“So do you know what happened?” she asked. Makalov shrugged.

“Just that someone took a shot at the princess and got you instead. The shooter is in custody, and the princess is with her sister. There are some cops outside who wanna talk to you when you're ready for it.”

“You sure they're not here for you?”

“Nope! I double-checked and everything!” He raised his hand in a mock salute, sporting a crooked grin. Marcia couldn't help but smile back at the idiot.

“Y'know, I'm almost proud of you,” she said with a laugh.

* * *

Micaiah hadn't been worried at first when her sister was late to arrive at her apartment. Honestly, she'd lost track of time cleaning the place, so she didn't even notice it right away. Then, about half an hour after Sanaki was supposed to arrive, she tried calling her cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. It was a little odd, but she didn't think much of it.

Twenty minutes later, Zelgius knocked on her door and said he was taking her down to the hospital.

Sanaki wasn't hurt, thank the goddess, but she was obviously shaken. It hurt Micaiah to see her little sister in the emergency room lobby, so small and frightened, looking every bit the 13-year-old she was. Sanaki had always tried to carry herself like an adult, and both Micaiah and their grandmother had indulged her. Seeing her drop the act now drove home how terrible the experience must have been for her.

As soon as she was through the doors, Micaiah ran to Sanaki's side and pulled her into a hug, which the smaller girl returned slowly, as if in a daze.

“Are you alright?” Micaiah asked. She didn't need to ask what had happened; Zelgius had told her everything they knew so far on the ride over.

“I'm fine,” Sanaki mumbled into her shoulder. Micaiah winced as Sanaki's grip tightened around her back, and her sister muttered darkly, “Kimaarsi will pay for this.”

She recognized the name, vaguely, as someone who had worked for their family for a long time. Of the few specific instances she could recall having met the man, he had been perfectly pleasant to her, and she struggled to think of any reason he (or anyone else) would suddenly try to hurt Sanaki.

“Did he say anything to you?” Micaiah asked. “Did he tell you why he did this?”

Sanaki was silent. Micaiah pulled back to look at her face, and her sister was wearing a stubborn look of consideration, as if she were debating whether she actually wanted to answer. When their eyes met, Sanaki looked away quickly.

“What is it?” Micaiah asked. Sanaki glanced down at her hands and fidgeted, then directed her gaze back up with a steely look in her eyes.

“Sister, what is the Fire Emblem?”

* * *

They were still trying to work out how they were going to casually haul in a princess for questioning when Jill got the call about the shooting outside of Nevassa. The intended target was apparently Sanaki Kirsch Altina, which she thought would mean an immediate call to the feds, but Tauroneo had pulled her and Haar for it instead. She didn't understand why until she got to the interrogation room where they were holding the perp. 

Haar was waiting for her when she arrived, and he nodded toward the one-way window. Behind it, she could see into the interrogation room, where a middle-aged blond man sat, head resting in his hands, back slouched in a defeated posture.

“He's not even asking for a lawyer,” Haar said.

“Is he insane?” Jill wondered out loud. “This is the guy they're saying took a shot at the princess, right?”

“Yeah. Name's Kimaarsi. They picked him up right at the gas station where it went down; he didn't even try to run. He's barely said two words since he got here.”

“And the chief wants _us_ to talk to him? Isn't this something the feds should be taking care of?”

“Apparently he was a bit more chatty when they picked him up. Mentioned some recent troubles in the city. Break-ins and the like.”

“Wait...are you saying this is our guy?” Jill said skeptically. “It's a pretty big leap from burglary to assassination!”

Moving to open the door, Haar said, “Let's find out.”

When they entered the room, Kimaarsi looked up briefly. Jill was struck by the look of resignation on his face, though it paired well with his defeated posture. Did she see acceptance there, or guilt? She wondered whether he had refused counsel because he thought he couldn't be helped, or because he thought he didn't deserve it.

“Kimaarsi, is it?” she said. “I'm Detective Jill Fizzart, and this is my partner, Haar. We're here to ask you some questions about the attempt on Sanaki Kirsch Altina's life.”

“I understand,” he answered quietly.

Even though it might make her job easier, she had to ask, “You're certain you don't want an attorney present?”

“No. I mean, yes, I'm sure. I don't want anyone else to hear what I have to say.”

Well, that was an odd statement, Jill thought. She looked to Haar and he only shrugged, so she continued. “Alright, then. We know you did it; our officers picked you up at the gas station with the gun still in your hands. So what happened?”

“I didn't...I never meant for this...” Kimaarsi looked away and trailed off. Jill shifted uncomfortably. She really wasn't very good at playing nice; she preferred the suspects who fought back at every turn and ended up cornering themselves in a pile of lies. Someone like Kimaarsi, who openly admitted his guilt and then just acted all...sad about it? She didn't know how to respond to that.

Haar must have noticed her discomfort, because he sighed and picked up the interrogation. “Listen, whatever you _meant_ to do, we've got a woman in the hospital and a kid who saw the whole thing go down. You went after a member of the royal family. If you've got something to say in your defense, now's a good time to start talking.”

“My defense?” Kimaarsi repeated dully. “No, not really.” He straightened slightly, and his expression hardened. “But there is something I have to say. The princess might still be in danger.”

“Is that a threat?” Jill asked, leaning forward. Kimaarsi shook his head.

“No! Not from me. I never...please, let me explain one thing. I never had any desire to hurt Sanaki. But they said if I didn't, they would ruin me. What they have on me...” He let out a dull laugh, shaking his head. “Well, it's nothing compared to this, so what have I got to lose? I was blackmailed into attacking the princess by a group that calls itself the Fire Emblem.”

Jill sat back in shock and Haar let out a low whistle. The Fire Emblem? Really? They were all over the news, most recently for the latest catastrophe in Ylisse, and this man was claiming they pushed him to crime? He might as well be blaming the boogeyman, for all she believed him.

“You sure you want to stick to that story?” she asked.

“Yes,” Kimaarsi said, glaring at her. It was the first show of defiance he'd made, and Jill actually found it a relief. Things were starting to move at a pace she recognized. “They wanted the princess dead, and they tried to make me do it. I...I would have, if not for that woman...”

“Marcia,” Haar recited dully, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. “23 years old. She's pretty new to the job guarding the princess, worked for the queen before that. A real standout among her peers, apparently.” He glanced at Kimaarsi, who had stiffened again. “...She'll be fine. Bullet missed any major organs, minimal damage.”

“Thank the goddess,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor, relaxing slightly.

“Sure,” Haar said. “You went from...does killing a princess count as regicide? You're down from regicide to plain old attempted murder. Not sure that's something I'd celebrate, but you do you.”

Jill smacked his arm and shot him a warning glare while Kimaarsi wasn't looking.

“Let's get back to your version of events,” Jill said. _However unlikely they are._ “You're saying the Fire Emblem told you to do it. What makes you think it was them?”

“They referred to themselves by that name, for one,” Kimaarsi said. “And they knew things about me that no one should, things from my past, from a job I worked...well, I'll tell you about that later. For another thing, that symbol they've had me and the others leaving around town, that's their emblem here. You know they switch it up in every country.”

Was he talking about the graffiti? But that had only come up in connection with low-profile jobs, nothing even half as serious as what they were looking at here. “Wait a moment. What others?”

“I don't know. I only know that I haven't been doing all this myself, so they're probably blackmailing other people, too. Anyway, I don't know what they're planning, other than the obvious.”

“Where the Fire Emblem goes, countries fall,” Haar said mockingly. “Sure, why not?”

“You can laugh all you want, but I've spoken to them. I don't doubt they can do it. If they really want the princess dead, they're not going to stop just because I failed. Please, make sure someone is looking after her!”

“We would do that anyway,” Jill assured him.

“Of course,” Kimaarsi said. “And there's more. They didn't tell me much, but I think there's another girl they're after, a Crimean. In Melior, I think. I don't know what her name is, but she's got something to do with the symbol they're using, something about a necklace.”

“There are a lot of girls in Melior,” Jill said doubtfully. “Give us something more to go on.”

“I really don't know anything else.” By the crestfallen look on his face, Jill was inclined to believe that much. She sighed.

“Why are you telling us all of this? If it's really the Fire Emblem, shouldn't you be worried about reprisal?”

“I'm already going to prison. I'm probably safer in there anyway. Like I said, I never wanted to do any of this. Please, tell Sanaki I'm sorry.”

 _She's thirteen years old and you pointed a gun at her,_ Jill wanted to say, but she held her tongue. “I'm sure the district attorney will take your cooperation with us into account when it comes to a plea,” she said instead. “In the meantime, if you think of anything else we should know...”

“Absolutely,” Kimaarsi said. “Thank you...for listening.”

Jill stood and left the room, Haar not far behind her. That was far and away the most bizarre interrogation she'd ever been through. She'd never been thanked at the end of one of those before.

“So how much of what he just said do you think is the truth?” she asked. Haar shrugged.

“I guess it's our job to figure it out. Have I mentioned that I really don't like our job?” He yawned and then stretched, rolling his shoulders. Jill might have guessed he hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, but knowing Haar, he probably just skipped his afternoon nap or something.

“Try to keep it together,” she said with a sigh. “ _You_ might not care, but _I_ do. Anyway, what about that Crimean girl he mentioned? What do we do about that?”

“Guess I'll place a call to Melior.”

* * *

Emmeryn went into her office that morning expecting more of the same terrible news she'd been getting every day for the past two months. If it wasn't more dire news out of Plegia, it was the birth of a new separatist movement, or some foreign dignitary threatening the dissolution of a necessary alliance. She felt as if she were playing a game of catch-up, only for each step she took, the other side took three more.

Sitting behind her desk, she had her back turned to the open window behind her. Her office was high up, but she wondered, if she turned around, would she see a crowd of protesters in the street? All she'd ever wanted was to help her people, and now, if they were to be believed, she was the very thing holding them back from...whatever it was they wanted. Some vague idea of freedom, one bought on the backs of their own countrymen.

Walhart was scheduled to come in today to update her on the situation with the Fire Emblem. There seemed to be little doubt in his mind that the Emblem was responsible for more than just the assassination in Plegia. He was convinced they had masterminded the entire rebellion. Just a few weeks ago, Emmeryn would have found the idea of an entire territory being manipulated like that ridiculous – she had more faith in her people than that. Now...she had to admit, she couldn't discount the possibility.

When the knock at her door came, she assumed it was Walhart, though it was a little early for their meeting. She was surprised when her brother walked in instead, head down and hands clenched into fists. 

“Chrom?” she said, surprised. “I wasn't expecting you today. Has something happened?”

He looked up at her, face set in a pained grimace. “Emm,” he said, “I have to tell you something.”

“Have a seat,” she told him, unsure of what else she could do. It was unlike Chrom to show up so suddenly and in such a state. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk and leaned over, hands on his knees. When he looked up, Emmeryn was taken aback by his obvious distress.

“I have to tell you something, but I can't tell you how I know it,” he said, and Emmeryn wondered what could possibly have happened since the last time they'd spoken.

She hadn't seen him much over the past month, hectic as things had been. When Chrom and Lissa were young, she'd had a tendency to mother them, for how absent their father had been. As they grew older, she intentionally tried to distance herself from them, afraid they might come to resent her worrying. Now, seeing a look like that on her brother's face, Emmeryn shifted right back into her old role as protector without a second thought. She walked around the desk and placed a hand on Chrom's shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“You can tell me anything,” she said. “This isn't like you. What is going on?”

“It's about Validar.”

“The Plegian premier?” she asked in confusion. “Do you know something about the assassination? What-”

“He isn't dead.”

Emmeryn drew her hand back and brought it up to her mouth to cover her gasp of surprise. That was an absurd claim! Walhart had confirmed his death, hadn't he? Then why would Chrom say something like that...? Even while she tried to turn those thoughts over in her mind, Chrom continued.

“They might have killed someone, but it wasn't him. I don't know if Gangrel is in on it or not – for all I know, he's just an opportunist – but Validar isn't dead.”

“Who is 'they'?” she asked dazedly. In her mind, she was still trying to piece together what her brother was saying, to decide whether it was actually possible. If it was the truth, did that make the current situation better or worse?

“The Fire Emblem,” Chrom replied. “I think Validar is part of it. Or working with them, at least, I'm not sure.”

“Chrom...how do you...?”

“I can't...I can't say.” He winced and turned away. “Emm, I know how all this sounds, but I'm telling you everything you need to know, I swear.”

 _No,_ she wanted to say, _there is definitely more that you aren't telling me._ But she held her tongue. Just saying as much as he had seemed to be causing him a great deal of pain, and she had no intention of making it worse. It caused her no small amount of worry, either, though.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?” she asked.

“No, not me,” he said after a long pause. “Not more than anyone else. What will you do now?” He looked to her with wide eyes, the way he used to when they were young, as if she held the answer to whatever was troubling him, as if she could right whatever had gone wrong. But she had no solution for him, and it broke her heart.

“I'll consult Director Walhart,” she told him. “Chrom, he might not listen unless I tell him where I'm getting this information from. Do you understand that? If you really believe what you're telling me, if you really want him to look into it, your name could come up.”

“I understand,” he answered. “But I can't tell him any more than what I've just told you.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “He should be here soon, if you'd like to stay...”

“I'd really rather not,” Chrom said, standing up. On his way out the door, he looked over his shoulder, frowning. “I'm sorry, Emm,” he said quietly.

“Stay safe, Chrom,” she told him. “I'll call you after my meeting.”

He nodded once and then he was gone, and Emmeryn fell back into her seat behind her desk, puzzling over this new information. She stayed that way for what felt like a very long time, but she still hadn't found an answer when Walhart arrived.

The man walked into her office with his usual standoffish posture, took one look at her, and laughed cruelly.

“What a sorry state you seem to be in,” he said. “Have you finally realized just how bad this mess of yours has gotten?”

“Good afternoon, director,” she answered weakly. “It's always a pleasure to see you.”

“Careful, minister. Keep talking like that and the people might think you've grown a backbone.” When she didn't respond to his heckling, he shrugged and took a seat in front her desk, right where Chrom had been only a short while ago. “Did you want to hear the latest out of Plegia, or not?”

“Of course,” she said. “Is there...anything about Validar?”

Walhart cocked a brow. “About his body, or about his killer?”

“Never mind,” Emmeryn said quickly. “Please update me on whatever you can.”

He scoffed and narrowed his eyes, but he continued just the same. “We managed to get Pheros in without drawing any unwanted attention, but she hasn't found out much more inside than we know out here. The citizenry is furious, of course, and the ones calling for your head are not just a vocal minority. Gangrel has them whipped into a frenzy. It's almost impressive.” He raised his hands and shrugged. “So in the end, I suppose there's not much to say after all.”

She pushed back the thought that he had probably only come here to gloat. She had been well aware of Walhart's peculiarities when she appointed him to his position; getting upset at him now would be childish, and it wouldn't help anyone. That was right – she had hired him in spite of that because she knew he would carry out the job well. Now, she had to trust that instinct.

“Walhart, this may sound strange,” she began, “but are you certain that Validar is dead?”

He stared at her blankly. She was expecting an incredulous laugh, at the very least, but this probing gaze was somehow much worse.

“What makes you ask that?” he said finally.

“Please, just tell me. Is it possible that he is still alive?”

“Now that is an interesting thought,” Walhart said, still fixing her with that stare. “Pheros reports that no one can claim to have seen the body up close, and of course the Plegian resistance movement isn't releasing any documents. But that hardly seems reason enough to assume the man is alive somewhere. What purpose would that serve? If he was abducted, his captors would have no reason to keep him alive at this point.”

“What if he faked his own death on purpose?”

“Another interesting thought. Where are these ideas coming from, minister? Not your own naive mind, I'm sure.”

Emmeryn winced. She didn't want to leave Chrom at the mercy of a man like Walhart, but this was information he needed to know. For the sake of Ylisse, for the people she was supposed to serve, she couldn't withhold that knowledge just to protect her family.

“Chrom was here earlier,” she said. “He refused to tell me where he heard it, but he insisted that Validar was alive, and moreover, that he was working with the Fire Emblem.”

Walhart grinned, shark-like. “I do wonder what the golden boy has been up to. Perhaps you should keep a better eye on him.”

“Walhart, please!” she said, raising her voice and leaning forward in her chair. He seemed amused by the outburst, and she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Please, what are your thoughts on this?”

“Without knowing where he heard it, I can't say how likely it is to be truthful,” he said, any joy sapped from his face, expression shifting to one of intense concentration. “I can't discount the possibility, I suppose, and we already knew the Emblem was involved.” He paused. “It's not outside the realm of possibility.”

“Then-”

“I'll have my men look into it. And I want a word with your enterprising brother.”

“He won't tell you anything,” she said, but she knew the words were futile. If Walhart wanted to speak to Chrom, he would find a way to do it, regardless of Emmeryn's opposition.

“We'll see,” Walhart said with a wicked grin. “I have my ways.” He stood to leave, then stopped and shook his head. “By the by, you might want to keep a better eye on your pet taguel, too. I don't know or particularly care what she was doing sniffing around Mount Prism, but if that's your idea of subterfuge...well, I can't say I'm surprised, but perhaps the two of you should work on it.”

* * *

Soren muttered a frustrated curse as he failed once more to reach Ike on his cell phone. As long as Ike was in Melior to see Oliver, it seemed like an opportune time to ask a senator about Izuka. But his calls were going straight to voicemail, which meant Ike was probably already inside the prison. Now Soren had to consider whether it was worth tracking down another senator, one who had no incentive to answer his questions in the first place, or to try his luck with Elincia. He doubted she would react as well to him as she had to Ike.

He was pondering these things in the back office when the bell at the front door chimed. He stepped out to the front just in time to see Greil walk in, greeted by Rhys with a smile. Soren frowned. It was uncommon for the former boss to drop in unannounced, particularly without Titania in tow. And Soren couldn't think of any reason for him to be here while Ike was out – unless, of course, Greil wasn't aware of that particular excursion. In any case, Soren had no desire to involve himself in that conversation, so he only offered Greil a curt nod and started back to the hallway.

“Ah, Soren, wait a moment.”

He turned around at the sound of Greil's voice. “Yes?” he asked. He really couldn't think of any reason the man would want to speak with him. But Greil offered Rhys a quick farewell, and then he headed to the back office himself. Soren took the hint and followed, and when they were both inside, Greil closed the door.

“How have things been going with the company?” Greil asked, eyes trailing over the files currently laid out on the table.

“Fine,” Soren replied, and they both knew it. Obviously there was more to his being here than a simple check-in. If that was all Greil wanted, he would have been better served going straight to his son, and Soren was now quite certain the timing of this visit, waiting until Ike was out, had been intentional.

“That's good to hear,” Greil said. After a long moment where neither of them spoke, he shrugged. “Listen, I've been trying to get in touch with your father, and I'm having no luck with his office. Do you have a better way I can reach him?”

“My father,” Soren repeated blankly. If that was a joke, it was a poor one...not that Greil looked very amused either. “...I”ll get you his cell.” As he wrote it down and handed off the slip of paper, Soren chanced, “What is it you want with Ashnard?”

Greil took the paper and said offhandedly, “If I told you, would you keep it from Ike?”

“No,” he answered honestly. Some part of him was tempted to lie, because the way that question was phrased meant the answer was something Ike would want to know, and Soren would be glad to share it. The trouble was that, notorious as Soren knew his scathing personality was, he actually respected Greil. Or at least, he owed him for giving him this job (not that he hadn't more than earned it by now, but Greil was the one who'd given him the opportunity to prove he could).

“I don't know if I should be impressed or disappointed by that answer,” Greil said with a wry smile. “Well, if you're going to say I was here anyway, tell Ike I said to be careful with all this senator business. That goes for all of you.”

“Do you know something we don't?”

“No,” he said, “but any fool could see there's something wrong here.”

Soren couldn't disagree.

* * *

_Nine o'clock. Time to make the call, right on schedule, he thought with amusement. She would certainly pick up this time, after all the trouble he'd gone through._

_She did, and on the first ring._

_“What have you done?” the girl said breathlessly. He imagined he could hear desperation in her voice. Had she cried for her sister? Had the thought of losing her family caused her unspeakable fear? He shook his head in disgust. If he kept on this way, soon he would be no more than the raving lunatic his partner had become._

_He was better than that._

_“I offered you a chance,” he told her. “Do you still doubt my claim? I know very well who you are, and the next time you make an enemy of me, I will not be so forgiving.”_

_She inhaled sharply, and then he thought he really did hear her sob._

_“What do you want from me?” she asked. Good, he thought. This was exactly where he wanted her, compliant and ready to play her part. And he couldn't deny, the detour had been fun._

_“I have a job for you.”_


	12. 3-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 3, the one where I suddenly remembered I had to finish the plot. Alternatively: the one where we really earn that canon defilement tag.

_She was only a child when she left her homeland behind her. It was dark and cold the night her mother packed their things, slipped the medallion over her neck, and bundled her away on an imposing ship to cross the seas. It was the first and last time she sailed, and she couldn't even enjoy it, secreted away below deck._

_They arrived in a new land, and her mother called their new home Daein._

_She was to forget the place she'd come from. Once, very early, she spoke her own name out loud. Her mother slapped her face hard, then held her close, trembling, and whispered in her ear._

_“No,” she said, “that is not your name. That girl is dead. You are Elena.”_

* * *

The moment her sister uttered those two words, Micaiah felt her heart skip a beat, and for a moment it was as if she had forgotten how to breathe. Sanaki looked at her with an unreadable expression, lips pursed. _What is the Fire Emblem,_ she had asked, and how was Micaiah supposed to answer that? Sanaki must have heard the stories, so why was she asking that now? Micaiah was afraid to ask, because she thought she already knew the answer.

“It's a terrorist organization,” she said. “The news is saying they're responsible for the civil unrest in Ylisse. Why are you asking about them now?”

“If they're in Ylisse, then they can't be here,” Sanaki said. “Isn't that right?”

“I...I don't know.”

“So Kimaarsi was lying then, wasn't he? But why? Micaiah, why would he lie about that?”

“About what?” Micaiah asked cautiously. “What did he say to you?”

“He...apologized, when the police came,” Sanaki said, a disgusted look on her face. “He said he didn't want to do it. And he told me to be careful, because the Fire Emblem wanted me dead. But why? That doesn't make any sense! Is he just trying to frighten me? I never did anything to him!” Her hands were balled into fists at her side, and her face was pale. “I don't understand,” she whispered.

“I'm sorry,” Micaiah said helplessly. She sat next to Sanaki and put her arms around her, holding her as her sister leaned her head on her shoulder. Sanaki wouldn't cry, Micaiah realized; she had always been stubborn about things like that. But from a girl like her, this confused silence spoke as loud as tears would for anyone else.

_And it's my fault,_ Micaiah thought guiltily. She wasn't foolish enough to think this was a coincidence. This was retaliation for saying no. This was her proof, because she'd doubted what the caller had told her. She didn't even have the energy to fear what could come next, sitting there in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, staring at dull white walls. All she could think of was what she'd done, and how desperately she wanted to take all of it back.

When she returned home that night to her doubly well-guarded apartment, she waited for the phone call she knew was coming, and it confirmed all of her suspicions. She couldn't do anything more than weakly agree to whatever the caller demanded. The Fire Emblem made it quite clear that his next attack on Sanaki wouldn't fail.

Micaiah accepted her new role without a fight, because there was no way she could put her sister in danger again. But she still had her friends to look after, too, and that was a much more complicated situation. She tried to explain that the next time they met, starting with the phone call where the Fire Emblem revealed who they were.

“I tried to get away, I really did,” she told them. “But...”

“Your sister,” Tormod said, eyes narrowed.

“I don't know how they discovered my identity, but if they know mine, they probably know yours, too.”

“We were prepared for this,” Leonardo said, but his voice was uneven and he couldn't look her in the eye. The same worry was apparent on all of their faces.

“If you want to leave, I'll do whatever I can to help you,” Micaiah said, “but it might be safer to stay. I really don't know.”

“We're not abandoning you,” Sothe said. He glared at each of the others in turn. “Isn't that right?”

“It is, but the implied threat isn't appreciated,” Nolan replied. The usually easygoing man wore a serious frown as he said the words. “Now more than ever we're going to need to look after each other. Let's not cause any further division among the ranks.”

“I-”

“He's right, Sothe,” Micaiah said. “I know you mean well, but I don't want anyone to stay if they don't want to. You're all my friends. What I want most of all is for you to be safe.”

“That goes both ways,” Edward said with a pout. “You're our friend too, so we want to protect you.”

“We're probably safer all sticking together anyway,” Aran said. At his side, Laura was wringing her hands nervously, looking close to tears.

“This is awful,” she whispered. “To think someone would attack the princess! Are you sure there's nothing we can do to stop it? We could go to the police. Or...or the news media! Or even your grandmother, Micaiah.”

Micaiah sighed. “Oh, Laura. I wish there was, but I can't cross them again. I can't put Sanaki in danger like that...or any of you, for that matter. We haven't done anything illegal, but there's no way to prove it. If we come forward, we're going to be blamed for all of it, even the things we had no part in. I know it sounds terrible, but for now, the Emblem is only asking us to do little things, nothing violent. If we can just play along for a little while...”

“You're thinking of a way out?” Sothe asked.

“Not really,” she admitted. “But the Fire Emblem has already gone public and there are agents all over the country trying to track them down. If we lay low and do as we're told, maybe we can just wait it out.”

They all went quiet, mulling it over. Tormod was the one to speak up, an unreadable look on his face. He looked her in the eye as he spoke, voice unusually calm.

“What if it never ends?” he said. “What if Tellius ends up just like Ylisse? Or even Magvel? What then?”

Micaiah was silent. If that was their fate, it wouldn't matter what they did. But she had faith in their government...or in her grandmother's cabinet, at least. No matter what the Fire Emblem tried, Tellius could surely withstand it!

“We're stronger than that,” she said. “So please, just hold on for a little while longer! I promise, I'll do everything I can to keep you all safe, so...”

“We're not going anywhere,” Sothe repeated. “No matter what happens, we'll be at your side.”

* * *

Walhart's warning about Panne hadn't escaped Emmeryn's notice. Now, between bouts of worrying about whatever trouble her brother had gotten into, she also worried about the trouble Panne seemed bound to find. With Panne, at least, she knew there was still something she could do to fix the situation, and she resolved to track her down the very next day.

To her relief, Emmeryn found it wasn't difficult. Panne was still keeping company with Phila's officers, so it became as simple as contacting them. She spoke to Cordelia over the phone, who sounded more than happy to escort Panne to her office later in the day. Emmeryn was careful not to mention Mount Prism; if Panne thought she was going to be reprimanded, she might refuse to come.

She might have refused anyway, Emmeryn decided as the taguel walked through the door, a profoundly unhappy scowl on her face. She graced Emmeryn with the most perfunctory of glances and then stared resolutely at an empty spot to the side of the room, refusing even to take a seat. Cordelia had escorted her in but left soon after, at Emmeryn's request, with a troubled look on her face.

“Thank you for coming in today,” Emmeryn said when they were alone. “I wanted to apologize.”

Panne showed no reaction to the words.

“I tried to remove you from our investigation without consulting you first,” Emmeryn continued. “I realize now that was a mistake.”

At that, Panne finally looked at her. “Because you need my help again?” she growled.

“No,” Emmeryn answered. “To be honest, locating Henry was the only part of this we couldn't have done without you. But my mistake was that I didn't properly explain to you _why_ I wanted you removed from the case, and I can see now you misunderstood me. Listen to me, Panne. The Fire Emblem is a very dangerous group of people. We've been able to protect you so far, but the closer we get, the more difficult that will be. I don't want you to lose your life over this - you've given us enough already.”

“You expect me to believe you tried to get rid of me because you were concerned over my welfare? And why are you only telling me this now?”

Emmeryn sighed. “It seems Walhart has had one of his own agents following you. They know you went to Mount Prism, and I can guess as to why.”

Panne's gaze grew even stonier. “He was following me? You sanctioned this?”

“No, of course not. And I wouldn't have, had I known about it. But Panne, why did you go off on your own? Why didn't you at least try to talk to me first?”

“You made it clear you didn't want me around,” Panne said dismissively. “Anyway, I wasn't alone. Those two women were with me. Sumia and Cordelia.”

Perhaps it was a good thing the two of them were waiting outside, Emmeryn thought, because she almost certainly needed to speak with them now. She was grateful they had protected Panne, but it didn't change the fact that they had potentially interfered with a federal investigation. Hopefully, she could arrange things in such a way that Walhart would have no reason to question their judgment. For now, however, she needed to correct this situation with Panne.

“If you're still interested, I'd like you to rejoin our investigation,” Emmeryn said. “As long as you understand the risks and I can't convince you otherwise, it will be safer than having you searching around on your own.”

She wasn't sure how Panne would respond, given how genuinely upset she had been, but the woman was quiet for only a moment before she gave her answer.

“I accept.”

* * *

Plegia was a rotten place even on a good day, and today was not one of those, Pheros thought idly as she wandered through the streets outside of the Dragon's Table. The sun was blistering, the people miserable, the militants out in full force. She was careful to keep her expression neutral, gaze pointed lazily ahead as she walked in a steady gait toward a drug store outside the capitol building. She'd been in the city for a week now, and thus far no one untoward had taken notice of her.

Frankly, the people of inland Plegia didn't seem to take notice of much at all. They were divided into two camps: those who viewed Gangrel as a personal savior, and those who wanted nothing more than to lay low until everything righted itself. There were more in the latter camp than the former, but they all seemed to be living under the delusion that their problems would go away if they just ignored them long enough.

She had managed to find a small group of people who supported Emmeryn and Ylisse as a whole, but even they refused to speak out for fear of reprisal. It had taken every ounce of charm she could muster to convince them she was of like mind and trustworthy. They were the ones she was headed to now, on orders from Walhart to look into a new rumor.

New in Ylisse, at least. There had been whispers about it through Plegia since before she had arrived, it seemed. The question on everyone's mind: was Validar really dead? Pheros had dismissed it as a conspiracy theory until Walhart brought it up. There was really no reason to doubt the assassination claim, particularly because it had stirred up such turmoil to the benefit of exactly no one. Even Gangrel, who stood to gain the most from all of this, was in a precarious position. He'd have to be absolutely mad to have planned for any of it.

But Walhart had given her orders, so Pheros intended to carry them out. He wouldn't say where he heard the rumors, and Pheros wouldn't question him anyway, but it was still a curious matter. She shook those thoughts from her head as she entered the drug store, the little bell above the door chiming to announce her presence. The pharmacist behind the counter looked at her with dull eyes and then smirked.

“Back again, are we? Perhaps you should see a doctor, if you're really so sick.”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Tharja,” Pheros said, nodding in her direction. The woman made her skin crawl, no matter how many times they spoke. Pheros's artificial charms were better suited to men, but she thought Tharja would be an enigma to her regardless of sex. “I'm here on other business, actually. There's a lot of talk going around the city today.”

“There's a lot of talk out there every day,” Tharja replied. She leaned over the counter and rested her chin on her hand. “Small-minded people do so love to talk.”

“I don't disagree. But it is a curious rumor. I wonder if you've heard it. They're saying Validar-”

“-is alive still, is that the one?” Tharja rolled her eyes. “If you're trying to hide the fact that you're not from here, you're doing a terrible job of it.” Pheros narrowed her eyes, but Tharja continued, “Oh, please, I care as much about _you_ as anyone else in this city, so don't give me that look. Are you looking for insider information? I could be persuaded to help, I suppose...”

“Is that so? And what would the cost of that be, I wonder?”

The smug look vanished from Tharja's face, and she was entirely serious when she said, “I want a way out of here, out of Plegia. There's someone I need to find, but I can't get past the border.”

“I might be able to arrange for that,” Pheros said, careful to keep any uncertainty from her voice. Realistically, that might not be possible, but if it meant getting the information she wanted, she was willing to lie. “So what do you know about the truth of those rumors?”

“I don't doubt it for a moment,” Tharja answered immediately. “I have connections in the capitol, and they're not letting _anyone_ see the body. Not to mention, Validar suspiciously stopped making public appearances a week or so before the incident. It's all quite contrived, but it makes for a nice scapegoat, for the people who wanted one. Clever man.”

“Is that a common opinion? How many people really believe he's dead, and how many are just playing along?”

“How should I know?” Tharja stood back and crossed her arms. “I don't understand any of them. I answered your question, so why don't we talk about how you'll pay me back?”

“I'll need to look into it, and that will take time,” Pheros said. Tharja glowered at her.

“That isn't the answer I wanted to hear.” She uncrossed her arms and turned her back, muttering under her breath. As Pheros turned to leave, Tharja spoke clearly once more, “When you can get me what I want, I have more information I'd be willing to share. Validar's whereabouts, perhaps.”

Pheros stopped and turned back to look at the infuriating woman, but Tharja still had her back turned. “How could you possibly know that?” she asked. Tharja's shoulders shook as she laughed lowly.

“Wouldn't you like to know?”

* * *

When Ike returned from the prison that afternoon, Soren intended to tell him about Greil's visit right away. He hesitated when Ike walked through the door, looking as close to angry as Soren had ever really seen him, offering only a brief nod in greeting before heading off to the back office.

After a moment's deliberation, Soren followed after him. It was an unusual reaction from Ike, but it wasn't the first troubling thing he'd done recently. He wasn't getting enough sleep, for one. Even ignoring his usual tells, Soren was a light sleeper himself, and he'd woken up no less than twice this week alone to the sound of Ike wandering around the apartment at odd hours of the morning. Something was obviously wrong, but Soren wasn't sure how to broach that subject.

He opened the door to the back office slowly. Ike was sitting at the desk there, leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed and breathing deep. At the sound of the door moving, he opened one eye, and when he saw it was only Soren, he relaxed slightly, easing his expression into a strained smile.

“Before you ask, it could have gone better,” he said.

“That's generally the case where senators are concerned,” Soren replied.

“You're telling me.” Ike sighed. “Did anything happen while I was out?”

He was still debating whether he should mention Greil's visit, but he couldn't think of any reasonable excuse not to bring it up if Ike asked as directly as that, so he stated it simply. He knew he wasn't imagining the way Ike tensed at the news and his subsequent discomfort.

“What? Why was he here?” Ike said.

“I was going to ask you that,” Soren replied. “Do you have any idea what business he could have with Ashnard?”

“The medallion, maybe? He probably has the most up-to-date news on the situation in Daein, right?”

“Perhaps, but I doubt he'd be inclined to share it.”

Ike paused for a moment, as if mulling it over, then crossed his arms in irritation. “Well, there's one way to find out. Give me his number and I'll call Ashnard myself.”

Soren's first thought was that Ashnard wouldn't speak to Ike in the first place, so there was no point in doing that. His second and much more disturbing thought was that Ashnard _might,_ just for the opportunity to cause trouble, and there was a good chance he would say something intentionally upsetting or misleading. His father could be maddeningly unpredictable in the pursuit of his own amusement.

“I'll do it,” Soren offered instead. “He's more likely to talk to me anyway.” Not by much, but if worse came to worst, he could always get the information through his mother. If he absolutely had to.

“You don't have to,” Ike said, but he did a poor job masking the hope in his voice. It was an obvious attempt at kindness over his own interests, which Soren found unsurprising. It was more or less what he'd expected when he made the offer.

“It's fine,” he said. “I'll let you know what he says.”

When he dialed Ashnard not long after, Soren only meant to leave a quick message to have him call back after he'd heard from Greil. To his surprise, it turned out that the call had already been made and answered.

“What did he want?” Soren asked. Much less surprising was Ashnard's resultant condescending laughter.

“Asking after personal conversations?” Ashnard said mockingly. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“You barely raised me at all,” he countered. “And unless you've spontaneously developed a sense of decency, I'm sure you have no reason _not_ to share the details of your discussion.”

Ashnard only laughed again. “But if I just gave that information to you, how could you truly enjoy it? I'm trying to teach you the value of hard work, son.”

“I'm sure.” Soren knew exactly what Ashnard was trying to do: bait him into losing his temper. It had been an embarrassingly effective tactic when he was younger. His father took perverse pleasure in drawing him into pointless arguments and seeing how long it took before he either resorted to calling on his mother or (more often) simply refused to speak.

Breaking out of that pattern was difficult, mostly because Soren was both highly competitive and completely infuriated by his father's puerile behavior. Frankly, the only reason he'd managed to stay clear of it so long was that he lived on the other side of the country now. But with great difficulty, he forced himself to swallow his pride.

“Let's skip the argument this time and just say you won,” he offered.

“You must really want to know what Gawain had to say,” Ashnard mused.

“Gawain?” Soren was aware of Greil's given name, but he couldn't recall ever having heard it out loud before. He was sure Greil didn't introduce himself by that name, either, so the fact that Ashnard was using it now was certainly suspect.

“Oh, I suppose he goes by Greil now,” Ashnard said. “It was Gawain when he worked for me.”

“He...worked for you?”

“When I was head of Nevassa's police department. Did you really never figure that out?” Ashnard sounded almost disappointed, and Soren pushed back the instinct to respond in kind.

“I try not to concern myself with your affairs, if I can help it.”

“And yet here we are.”

“As I said: if I can help it.” Soren cursed inwardly; that had probably been revealing too much. Before Ashnard could seize on his mistake, he continued, “So he was calling about something from the time he worked with you in Daein. An old case or something of that nature?”

“You're jumping to conclusions – the wrong ones, for that matter,” Ashnard drawled. “I thought you were supposed to be sharper than that.”

“Was I meant to intuit something else from that unnecessary name-drop?” Soren asked sarcastically.

“Not everything is code for something. I was only referring to an old colleague by the name I was familiar with. You and your brother both spend too much time looking for reasons to get offended; it must be tiring.”

“Are you going to tell me what he said or not?” Soren could feel his annoyance simmering over into actual anger. At this point, he decided it might actually be less painful to call his mother, and he considered hanging up.

“Giving up already?” Ashnard laughed at his silence, then finally told him what he wanted to hear. “He was looking for official records on that wife of his, Elena.”

“Why would you have those? She died in Gallia.”

“And before that, she lived in Nevassa, which is where Gawain met her. Or at least, that's what he says. To the best of my knowledge, there is no evidence that any Elena with her last name ever lived here.”

“So she was never in any trouble with the police. Why do you sound so smug about knowing that?”

“Oh, not just the police,” Ashnard said. “There's no record of her at all. No birth certificate, nothing in the census, no tax records...officially, she never existed at all. Which brings into question how that never came up in the investigation into her murder, but I can't say that interests me very much.”

“And that's all you told him?”

“What else is there? Yes.”

Soren felt a petty sense of satisfaction at hanging up on Ashnard then, followed immediately by shame. _How childish,_ he thought with disgust. But his father always brought out the worst in him.

* * *

The three of them were eating dinner when Ike came barreling in through the front door, looking leagues away from happy. Still, Mist figured it paled in comparison to the anger on their father's face at his son's lack of manners.

“Not that I mind seeing you, Ike,” Greil said lowly, “but a call ahead is always nice. Or a knock at the door. Even a 'hello' would suffice.”

“Why are you calling people in Daein about mom?” Ike said, tone equally dangerous.

“Should have seen that coming,” their dad muttered under his breath, but Mist thought Ike was too far away to hear it properly. Out loud, he said, “We're in the middle of dinner right now. Sit down and join us or wait in the family room. We'll talk about it when we're done eating.”

Ike looked like he might protest, but instead he glared at their father silently and then turned around and left for the family room. Titania narrowed her eyes at Greil.

“Was that really necessary?” she said.

“Yes,” he answered simply. The two of them exchanged a look, and Mist wondered if they were having an entire conversation without saying a word, because there seemed to be something more going on there. She coughed politely to make it stop.

“Um. Am I missing something?” she asked. “Why was Ike asking about mom?”

“Eat your dinner,” her father said with a sigh.

Mist spent the rest of the meal in awkward silence, despite Titania's attempts at starting conversation. Her father, on the other hand, was happy to talk as if nothing was wrong, but Mist couldn't shake the mention of her mother. Ike made it sound like their dad knew something he wasn't telling them, but why would he do that? Looking at him now, laughing with his wife and smiling at Mist as if trying to reassure her, Mist couldn't imagine him lying, at least not without good reason. She pushed her food around her plate nervously. Suddenly, her appetite was gone.

Some time later, when he was satisfied she wasn't going to eat any more, her father sighed and motioned in the direction of the living room.

“You two will be the death of me,” he muttered as he stood. “Come on, let's get this over with.”

She followed him wordlessly. As they entered the room, Ike looked up from his place on the couch, face fixed in that same unhappy glare. He turned away when he caught sight of Mist.

“Does she have to be here?” he asked.

“She has a name, you big bully!” Mist said, crossing her arms. “Why are you being such a jerk today, anyway?”

“I'm not-!”

“Knock it off, both of you!” Greil said sternly. They both quieted immediately. “This concerns you both. Now have a seat, and let's talk.” He sat down in his recliner and Mist sullenly took a seat next to Ike on the couch. She was the one who broke the silence a moment later.

“What were you two talking about mom for?” she asked. “Was it something about the medallion?”

“I was trying to track down some information about where it came from, yes,” Greil said. He shot Ike a pointed look and added, “Should I assume you already know how that conversation went?”

“I don't get it,” Ike said, sounding frustrated. “Why Daein? Why Ashnard? What did mom have to do with any of that?”

“Wait, what?” Mist interjected. “Now I'm really lost! Isn't Ashnard the governor of Daein? Dad, you know him?”

“We worked together years ago,” her father said, like it was no big deal, except it kind of was, as far as Mist was concerned. “And it was during that time I met your mother, who was raised in Daein, so it seemed as good a place as any to start looking.”

“So was Ashnard telling the truth?” Ike asked. “About there being no record of mom living there at all?”

“I can't think of any reason he'd lie about that. And it fits with some of the things I knew about her myself. It's really not as shocking as you think.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, your mother...there were some things about her that she didn't want anyone to know. Especially not the people she loved.”

“Mom?” Mist whispered. “That can't be right. What could mom possibly...what could be so bad that she was afraid of us finding out about it?”

“I don't think it was something bad,” Greil said. “But I think she was trying to protect you. Trying to protect all of us.”

“From what?” Ike said. Mist was shocked at the cold look in her brother's eyes. How could none of that have affected him? He didn't even sound curious so much as determined.

“I don't know,” Greil said. “She never told me. I was trying to contact an old friend of hers, but that lead came up empty too. I figured if anyone knew, it would be Lillia...the two of them were like sisters back when we lived in Daein.”

“Lillia?” Ike repeated. His hands, resting on his knees, clenched into fists at the name. “Did mom...did we ever meet her? Did she ever come to the house in Gallia?”

“No,” Greil said, an odd look on his face. “She wouldn't leave Daein. It was a point of contention with your mother. Why?”

“You're sure I never met her? Did mom talk about her a lot?”

“No. What's going on with you?”

“It's nothing,” Ike said, turning his head away. He suddenly looked unsure, and that worried Mist more than anything. Aside from their father, her brother was the most unshakable person she knew. “So you tried to look into mom's past and came up with nothing. Is that all?”

“No,” Greil said. He paused and looked at both of them in turn. “There's something else. I wasn't going to say anything until I was sure, but-”

He was interrupted when Titania walked into the room and pointedly cleared her throat, holding the wireless phone in her hand. Mist almost rolled her eyes at the way both men immediately went quiet and deferred to her – not that Mist herself was any different. Titania just commanded that sort of respect, somehow.

“Greil, you've got a phone call,” Titania said. She handed him the phone, a curious look on her face. “Elincia Ridell. I think you should listen to what she has to say. You might want to take it in the other room.”

“Elincia?” Ike said, apparently confused by the notion. Greil took the phone, then stood and left for the kitchen. Titania looked to Ike.

“She said she tried to call you, too, but you weren't picking up.”

Ike reached into the pocket of his jeans, frowning, and came up empty.

“Must have left my phone in the car,” he muttered. “What does she want?”

Mist didn't miss the furtive glance Titania shot her way before answering. “You'll have to ask her yourself,” Titania said. Mist tried to catch her eye again, but it seemed like she was deliberately avoiding her gaze. What on earth could that be about?

Mist got up from her seat on the couch and took a few steps closer to the kitchen, where she could barely make out her father's stilted responses to whatever Elincia was saying. She couldn't pick up anything from his tone of voice, which gave nothing away – it was almost too even, in fact. She jumped back when he turned around, wondering if she'd been caught eavesdropping, but Greil only walked back to the doorway with his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “This could be a while.”

“We can wait,” Ike answered without pause. Greil nodded and walked away once more, probably to the privacy of his office. Mist guessed she hadn't exactly been subtle after all. She trudged back over to the couch and sat down with a huff, arms crossed. For a few minutes, she, Ike, and Titania sat in a terse silence, until Titania finally grew tired of it.

“Why don't you turn on the TV to pass the time?” she suggested.

“I'm not in the mood,” Mist grumbled. Ike said nothing at all, maybe lost in thought, but who knew what went on in her brother's head?

Titania stood, an almost bemused look on her face. “I'm going to go clear the table. If you're just going to sit around anyway, you can help me with the dishes.”

“Fine,” Mist said. 

Titania smiled. “I'll wash, you can dry.” She turned to Ike and nodded. “You too, Ike. You can put the dishes away.”

Ike looked up, surprised. “Alright,” he said warily. Mist stifled a laugh into her palm as she realized what a bizarre concept this must be to him – after all, they'd never done chores like this with their father, and Ike had moved out right around the time Titania moved in. They went into the kitchen and started their regular post-dinner routine, Ike taking over Greil's usual job. It was relaxing, and Mist was almost able to forget about how crazy things had gotten.

Almost, but not quite, and it came back in full force when they were nearly finished and she turned around to find her father watching them from the doorway with a troubled smile on his face. Titania squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and nodded in Greil's direction. The smile faded to be replaced by the more serious look he leveled at Mist and Ike.

“Let's get back to that talk,” he said.

* * *

Lucius usually liked rain in the mornings; it was relaxing, and “calm” was a rare and precious commodity when your job involved looking after a half dozen unruly children. He loved them all, unquestionably, but he was not a saint (and he suspected even saints had their limits, anyways). The early morning rain in Araphen was a lovely time for him to just sit quietly by the window and think, a bit of peace before the children woke up.

The rain was less relaxing when it was actually coming in through the roof, he decided, as he watched it drip into a bucket in the middle of the kitchen. He was standing there, staring at it with worry, when Raven walked in, yawning.

“The roof is leaking,” Lucius told him. Raven stretched in the doorway, looked between the ceiling and the bucket on the floor disdainfully, and sighed.

“I'll check it out later,” he answered.

It seemed as if he would say more when he stopped suddenly. His eyes narrowed and he immediately stilled, then whirled around. Lucius hurried over to him and saw he was glaring daggers into the entryway. When he looked out past Raven's shoulders, he could see why. The two of them greeted the man standing there at the same time.

“Ah, Jaffar, hello,” Lucius said.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Raven said.

The enigmatic man answered neither of them, only stared back, expressionless. As welcoming as Lucius tried to be, barging in through a locked door before 7 a.m. was pushing it. ...On second thought, no, just barging through a locked door was enough. But he wasn't stupid enough to say that to Jaffar...and surely Raven wasn't, either. Lucius exchanged a glance with the man.

_Just let it go,_ he tried to plead with his eyes. Raven grunted and turned away, but he kept his mouth shut. Lucius sighed in relief. The last thing he needed was to upset the Black Fang. It was still an awkward few minutes though, with Jaffar remaining silent, Raven brooding in the kitchen doorway, and Lucius feebly attempting to keep the peace with inane pleasantries (all of which were answered with more or less the same indifferent grunt).

Finally, thank Elimine, the front door opened again, and a cheerful young woman practically bounced inside.

“Good morning!” Nino greeted them with a smile. Raven relaxed somewhat, and Lucius wondered if he'd thought Jaffar was here for some other reason. (Lucius really couldn't imagine what that other reason would be. No, he didn't _want_ to imagine...)

“Good morning,” Lucius answered calmly. “What brings you here today?”

“Oh, you know, just stopping by,” Nino said. She had bumped past Jaffar and was skipping to the kitchen as she spoke. Raven let her by with a sigh, and the two of them followed her in. Jaffar, of course, was not far behind.

“I'm going on a little trip soon,” Nino said mournfully as she took a seat at the table. “I don't know when I'll be back. I just wanted to say goodbye first.”

Nino was a very kind girl, but Lucius figured her sentiments were probably directed more toward the children than himself. Ever since Brendan Reed had taken notice of the orphanage, Nino had made a habit of stopping by to personally check on the children. If it had been any other member of the gang, Lucius might have tried to stop it, but he really couldn't imagine innocent Nino being any sort of negative influence on the youths under his care. (And while Jaffar always shadowed the girl, he never actually interacted with the kids, so that was...well, Lucius wasn't going to argue with an assassin.) Nino seemed to genuinely love being around them, and these days, the orphanage may as well have been a second home to her.

“The children are still sleeping,” Lucius told her, “but I ought to be waking them up soon anyway, if you're able to wait a few minutes.”

“I can wait!” she said immediately. Sometimes Lucius wondered what sort of life the girl lived outside these walls, within the infamous Black Fang. She seemed happy enough, but he suspected there weren't any other girls for her to socialize with, or anyone her age at all. That seemed the most likely reason for her attachment to the children here. She was particularly close with Sophia, who was about the same age, though she gushed over the younger Fae and Shin just as excitedly.

Lucius started toward the hallway, but Raven sighed and shook his head. “I'll take care of it,” he said. Glancing at the shadow in the doorway, he muttered, “Keep an eye on that one.”

“He's harmless,” Lucius said with a strained smile. The words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“Sure,” Raven replied. As he went off in the direction of the children's rooms, Lucius joined Nino at the table. She kicked her feet back and forth and drummed her fingers along the edges, smiling happily.

“So where are you off to?” he asked. She grinned.

“Someplace far away! Have you ever left Elibe, Lucius?”

“No, I haven't,” he said. “Have you?”

“Nope! But father says the place we're going is really different, and they have all kinds of different people and foods and everything. It sounds exciting, doesn't it?”

“Your father? Are all of the Fangs going, then?” Lucius tried not to think about what that would mean for the orphanage. Stressful as relying on the Black Fang was, he couldn't deny they made his life much easier. Even in a neighborhood as dangerous as theirs, since the Fang had stepped in, they never had to worry about crime or, Elimine forbid, anyone hurting the children.

“No,” Nino said. “Don't worry, Uncle Jan will look after things while we're gone, so no one will bully you, I promise! It'll just be me, father, Lloyd, and Linus going.” She looked to the doorway with a bright grin and added, “And Jaffar, of course!”

The young man grunted his assent and looked away, an action that could almost have been cute...if not for the fact that it was coming from Jaffar.

“And what is it you'll be doing in this far-off place?” Lucius asked. Nino leaned over and grinned conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a stage whisper.

“Well, it's a secret,” she said, “but I think I can tell you, Lucius.” She straightened and giggled, and then she looked at him and declared, “We're going to save a life!”

* * *

_She was very lonely in those early years, frightened by the thought of forging new bonds only to have them torn away again. How could a girl whose entire life was a lie be trusted? If she trusted another, how could she keep lying? So the solitude that had begun by her mother's wishes soon transformed into her own desire, and she learned to content herself with it._

_Then, her first friend, that gentle, sweet soul from the heart of her new home. The Heron, Lillia, only slightly younger than her, trapped in her own sort of loneliness. Two lost, desperate girls found refuge in each other, and for the first time, Elena did not feel like a lie. Elena was a real person now, and she had a sister._

_From there, the rest was easy._


	13. 3-2

_Lillia was a lost girl as well, a kindred spirit and a true friend. She was like Elena, afraid of a truth she could never speak, but speak it she did. She told her one night, as they sat under the stars, how she had come to be in Daein, the sad tale of the family she remembered only in stories, from whom she was taken much too soon. The brothers and a sister who was barely old enough to speak, who she feared had forgotten her already. Then it seemed to Elena it was all she could do to share her own history, the one she'd sworn never to speak of._

_“Truly?” Lillia gasped at the end, eyes wide and bright. “You're just like a fairy tale princess, then!”_

_“Hush!” Elena cried, clapping a hand over her friend's mouth. “You can't ever say that! And you can't tell anyone, either!”_

_“I won't,” Lillia answered solemnly. “Cross my heart, I'll never tell. Your secret's safe with me.”_

_She only ever told her secret that once, as a young girl, before the pressure became too much ever to share it again. There was one other time she came very close, but that was much later._

* * *

It had been a tense few days since she'd broken the news to the rest of the Brigade. Micaiah felt exhausted all the time, and the others didn't seem to be faring much better. It was awful, but so far, they were all keeping with the plan to go along with whatever the Fire Emblem ordered them to do. There had been a few minor jobs not unlike what they'd been doing before, little errands around the city, but she knew it was only a matter of time until something bigger came up.

Sanaki was in Begnion with their grandmother now, where she would probably stay for the foreseeable future. She wouldn't be happy about being kept from going back to school, but if it meant she was under constant protection, Micaiah couldn't feel too sorry for that. Of course, the danger last time had come from someone who was supposed to protect her, so maybe she shouldn't feel relieved at all.

It was a mess, no matter how she looked at it. And now here she was in her apartment, waiting on another call from the person who'd caused it in the first place. He was usually quite punctual; she figured she had at least another twenty minutes before her phone rang. She grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. Maybe a walk would help clear her mind.

She made it as far as the lobby of the building, only to find Zelgius waiting there, steadfast as ever in his crisp black suit. She sighed.

“I'm just going for a walk,” she said before he could voice his protests.

“It's already dark out,” Zelgius said carefully. “If you want to go out, I can accompany you-”

“I really just want to be alone right now.”

“All the same, considering recent events, I'd be remiss in my duties to let you leave by yourself.”

Zelgius could be very hard to read sometimes, Micaiah thought. She could never tell whether his concern for her was genuine or just born out of some sense of duty. At times like this, it hurt to wonder at that, because she actually liked him, awkward formality and all. That was one reason she didn't want to be around him right now. The other was that at this point, if he really asked her what was going on, she might just be frightened enough to tell him.

She was saved from having to worry about that possibility when someone knocked on the glass door of the apartment lobby. She turned around to find Pelleas, of all people, standing there, smiling timidly.

“Is that Ashnard's son?” Zelgius asked, confusion evident on his face. “Do you know him?”

“We're friends,” Micaiah said, though she was fairly confused herself. He had walked her home once after an afternoon at the soup kitchen, but he'd never come here on his own before. She walked over to the door and let him in, and he greeted her kindly.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “I heard about what happened to your sister – I'm sorry. I was out of town until today, or I would have been by sooner to check on you-” He stopped and blushed, then hurried to say, “If that's not overstepping my bounds, or anything like that. Just, you've always been so nice to me, so I wanted to say, if you need anything...”

“Thank you, Pelleas,” she said. It was a nice sentiment, even if there wasn't much that anyone could do to help her right now. On the other hand... “You know, I was just about to head out for a walk. Would you like to come along? Zelgius, that would be fine, right?”

Her bodyguard looked conflicted, but if his issue was just with her being alone, having Pelleas along should ease his fears. Pelleas was basically the most non-threatening person she knew, but that was only if he opened his mouth. From a distance, all anyone would see was that she was walking with a rather tall man, which seemed like defense enough for a young woman out at night in a neighborhood as safe as this.

“Try not to be too long, alright?” Zelgius said finally with a resigned look on his face.

“If I'm not back in fifteen, call the cops,” Micaiah joked. Then she remembered who she was talking to. “But don't really, please, because that would be mortifying.” Zelgius fixed her with a blank stare and she looked away awkwardly. “Let's go, Pelleas.”

“Sure,” he said, holding the door open for her. She gave Zelgius a quick wave on the way out, which he returned in kind. Outside, she let out a breath of relief and smiled at Pelleas.

“Thank you,” she said as they began to walk. “He means well, but it can be a little stifling to have him around all the time.”

“Can you blame him for worrying, though?” Pelleas said. “What with everything that's happened, I mean. Really, though, how are you doing? And how's your sister?”

“We're...managing. It's scary, but the police caught the man who did it, so at least there's that.” She really didn't want to talk about it, given the discrepancy between the real story and what the public had been told, so she tried to change the subject. “So you just got back into the city today? Where were you? Anywhere fun?”

“Just a short trip to Crimea,” Pelleas said shyly. “Boring stuff, just running some errands. I did get to see my brother for the first time in a while, though.”

Micaiah knew about Ashnard's older son, though she'd never actually met him. Judging by the stories she'd heard, that might have been a good thing – though if those stories were accurate, she had a hard time imagining a person like that being related to someone as gentle as Pelleas. Considering their mother and father, however, maybe it was more like Pelleas was the odd one out?

She was a little caught off guard by how calmly he spoke now compared to his usual mannerisms, but she wasn't going to call attention to it; that would probably just embarrass him. Maybe this was just the way he acted when he was comfortable with someone. The thought brought a smile to her face.

“That must have been nice,” she said. “I know I'm always glad to see Sanaki, since we spend so much time apart.”

“It's probably a little different for us,” Pelleas said with a nervous laugh. He was quiet for a long moment, and when he started to speak again, he was back to that familiar, timid way. “Um, sorry if this is kind of out of left field, but I had a question for you. I don't know if you'd even know the answer, but I thought maybe since your family is, well, what it is, maybe you'd know some things about the Senate, but then again maybe you wouldn't? So I'm sorry to bother you if you don't know, or if you can't answer, or anything like that-”

“Pelleas, it's fine,” she said, interrupting his rambling. The change in personality was a little disappointing. “Just ask.”

“It's kind of a weird question,” Pelleas said, scratching his arm nervously.

“It's fine,” Micaiah repeated. He nodded.

“It's about a man who's been working with the Senate, I think. He also works for my father. His name is Izuka...have you heard of him before?”

The name wasn't completely unfamiliar, but Micaiah couldn't think of any specific instance where it had come up. That was the case with a lot of people related to the Senate. Uncle Sephiran always had a tendency to vent about the people who made his life difficult, at least when he thought no one else was listening. Actually, Micaiah thought sadly, that was probably what had gotten her started on all this justice-seeking activism in the first place.

“I don't recall hearing about him, but I may have just forgotten,” Micaiah said. Pelleas's face fell at the news; obviously he had been hoping to hear something else. “What were you trying to find out? I can ask around and see if anyone else knows anything.”

“No! No, that's fine,” Pelleas said quickly. “Honestly, it's probably nothing, just something that came up when I was in Crimea. Something I noticed at my brother's place, actually. I tried to ask him about it, but he's kind of hard to talk to sometimes.” He paused and made a face. “No, that's a lie. He's always hard to talk to.”

Micaiah shook her head. “And you're probably too kind to intrude if someone doesn't want to talk,” she said. “You should stick up for yourself more. If you have something to say, you shouldn't be afraid to say it.”

“Maybe you're right,” he said. He looked like he was about to take her up on that proposal, but then he averted his gaze back toward the ground and winced. “Or maybe that's just not the kind of person I am. I'm not strong like you, Micaiah.”

“Strong?” Micaiah laughed. “Maybe I'd be better off if I could learn to let things go like you do.”

They walked quietly for a few minutes longer, and by then, they'd gone around the block and arrived back in front of her apartment. She pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket to check the time. The call would be coming through soon. She smiled at Pelleas, trying to keep her tiredness from showing in the expression.

“Well, thank you for keeping me company,” she said.

“Any time,” he answered. He frowned. “What you said, about letting things go...I think you're wrong about that. What I do, that's just me being too scared to speak up. But you? You're honest, and not because you don't care what people think. It's because you care so much about doing the _right_ thing, and that's not something you should be ashamed of.”

She was surprised, but she couldn't help herself, and she knew she'd lost her composure even before she started to speak. “But what if doing the right thing gets people hurt? What if what I think is the right thing is actually wrong?”

“Well, it's not like you can see the future,” Pelleas said. “So you just have to do what seems right at the time, don't you? And if you find out later it was wrong...then I guess you just have to do what you can to make up for it.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Micaiah blurted out, too loudly. Pelleas flinched back and she looked away. “I'm sorry. I think I'm just a little stressed lately.”

“I understand,” he said, though his confused face indicated otherwise. “If you want to talk-”

“Maybe some other time. Goodnight, Pelleas.”

“Oh, um, okay. Goodnight.”

She unlocked the door and went inside, passing Zelgius in the lobby. He nodded at her in greeting but didn't try to stop her, which she was grateful for. As she started up the stairs to her floor, her phone began to ring.

* * *

Emmeryn barely had time to feel relief over resolving the situation with Panne before a new problem arose, this time in the form of a strange woman from Plegia.

She'd gotten the call earlier today from Walhart, an update on his investigation into Validar's death. He arrived at her office soon after to discuss the details, a grim-looking young woman in tow. Everything about the way she carried herself, from the long bangs shadowing her eyes to the hunched-over posture to the nervous thumb-chewing, indicated that she did not want to be there. Walhart made a bored gesture toward her.

“This is...” he trailed off, apparently having forgotten his charge's name, and she made no move to supply it herself. Emmeryn smiled politely and held out her hand.

“It's a pleasure to meet you. What should I call you?”

The woman looked at her outstretched hand and then glared at her, a disgusted look on her face. “Tharja,” she said simply. She made no move to return the handshake, and Emmeryn stepped back awkwardly.

“Pheros brought her back from Plegia,” Walhart said. His tone gave no indication how he felt about the matter, for once, and Emmeryn wondered whether the poor agent had gotten into trouble for that. “She claims to know something about Validar. Or she did, anyway, until she got across the border. Then she conveniently forgot.”

“Why have you brought her here?” Emmeryn asked.

“Oh, don't mind her. She has a habit of running; I'm just keeping an eye on her until one of my less useless subordinates becomes available. I, on the other hand, am here because we have some things to discuss.”

She knew he was talking about Chrom before he even brought up the name.

“We're at another dead end,” Walhart said. “Our best lead now is your suspiciously well-informed brother, so we're going to need to talk to him. I just thought I'd pay you the courtesy of letting you know before we pick him up.”

“There's no need for that!” Emmeryn said quickly. “He's already said he'll cooperate. Let me just give him a call...”

He was off work that day, but when Emmeryn spoke to him, he seemed to understand the urgency in her voice. He agreed to meet with Walhart and Emmeryn both, though he warned her he didn't have anything else to say. Emmeryn didn't bother relaying that statement to Walhart; she knew it wouldn't deter him.

That was how the two of them, with the addition of Walhart's new ward, ended up in Chrom's kitchen that afternoon. Emmeryn was struck by how tired her brother looked, but she didn't want to call attention to it in front of Walhart, with whom Chrom was being cordial but succinct.

“You obviously heard about Validar somewhere, so why are you being deliberately vague about it?” Walhart was saying.

“I've already told you all I can,” Chrom replied, which only prompted Walhart to insult him and ask the same question again with different words. Emmeryn sighed at the futility of it all. At this point, she wasn't even sure which of them she was hoping would prevail, they were both being so stubborn.

She was distracted suddenly when she realized Tharja was no longer standing by Walhart. The woman had been observing their conversation with an odd intensity to her face, but now she was nowhere to be seen.

“Hold a moment, Walhart,” Emmeryn said, interrupting his latest tirade. “Where is Tharja?”

“Who?” He made a face, then looked to his side and realized the woman was gone. With a troubling grin, he said, “That is a very good question.”

And it was answered right away, as the woman came stomping in from the living room, holding some bundle of clothing in one outstretched hand.

“Where did you get this?” Tharja said, a hint of venom to her tone. Emmeryn took a closer look at the dark hooded sweatshirt Tharja clutched tight in her white-knuckled hands, the woman's face set in a furious grimace. Chrom looked completely taken aback by her anger.

“What?” he said.

“This jacket! Where did you get it?” Tharja marched over to him and shook it in front of his face as if to emphasize the point, then drew it back and held it close to her chest. “This is Robin's! How did you get it? Where is he?!”

“Please, calm down,” Emmeryn said as Chrom paled and backed away.

“Not until he answers me! He told you about Validar, didn't he? What did you do to him?! Tell me!”

“Stop!” Walhart yelled in a booming voice. Tharja stilled, though the ugly look never left her face and she still shook with rage. “Tell me, are you trying to get yourself thrown in a jail cell? Because I can certainly arrange for that.” Tharja looked away petulantly and Walhart turned to Chrom. “The same goes for you, if what she's saying has any hint of truth to it. I'm going to ask you again what you know, and it is in your best interest to answer honestly this time.”

“Emm,” Chrom said, looking to her helplessly, desperately.

“Director, please, if I could have just a few minutes-”

“Not a chance, minister,” Walhart said. His gaze stayed steady on Chrom. “I'm done playing games. Who told you about Validar, and where is he now?”

“Chrom, please,” Emmeryn begged. “Please, just tell the truth.”

Chrom looked away from her. “I don't know where he is or how he's involved in all this. All he told me was that they were staying with family.”

“Family?” Tharja said, face brightening. “So Robin is safe. That is...very good, for you.” She looked at Walhart and rolled her eyes. “And you as well, I suppose. I know where they are. The only 'family' Robin has is at Mount Prism.”

Emmeryn tried to process it all, first puzzling over who this Robin was and how Chrom was involved with him. Then her mind stuck on Tharja's mention of Mount Prism, the place Cordelia and Sumia had taken Panne on what the taguel called a baseless hunch. It was much more than that, apparently, and it meant the manakete tribe was now deeply involved in their case.

Walhart took in the same information with a speculative hum. Emmeryn looked past him and at her brother, who leaned against the wall and held his arm in a defensive posture, something broken in the expression on his face. She reached out to touch his shoulder, and he shied away. Whatever victory she'd just achieved, it felt hollow. Another failure in her role here, first as leader and then as family.

What else would the Fire Emblem take from her?

* * *

Since the reveal of the Fire Emblem, Jill felt like she'd been working nonstop. Following up on Kimaarsi's information was a whole ordeal in and of itself, but when that dried up, there was an old lead they just couldn't ignore any more. Nico had mentioned a silver-haired girl, and Jill and Haar were both pretty confident they knew who it had been.

“Keep in mind what the family is going through right now,” Tauroneo warned them when they told him about their plan. “Even looking past the fact that she's a member of the royal family, her sister was just attacked by the very organization you're trying to tie her to. Tread lightly.”

“Of course, sir,” Jill said. Nervously, she added, “I really do hope it's only a coincidence, but we can't just ignore this. Not when the situation is this serious.”

“I understand, but remember who you're dealing with.”

She and Haar set out not long after that to follow up on some other leads in the city while they tried to work out what avenue they were going to take in regards to Micaiah. It was just their luck, then, that they happened across her in the middle of the city's biggest mall.

“Well, that's lucky,” Haar commented as he pointed her out. “Or unlucky, I guess, depending on how you look at it.”

“How is this lucky? We can't just go over there and...and pick her up,” Jill said. “We don't even know what we want to say! The captain said to be careful.”

“Now's as good a time as any, if you ask me.”

Before she could stop him, Haar was sauntering off in the princess's direction. After a moment of shock, Jill rushed to follow, but she had a sinking feeling there was nothing she could do at this point.

“Micaiah Kirsch Altina?” Haar called out as they neared, holding up his badge. “We're with the Nevassa PD. Got a minute to talk?”

The girl turned around whip-fast, and Jill almost missed the way Micaiah's eyes widened just a fraction before she put on a gentle smile and a nervous laugh.

“Of course,” the princess answered. “May I ask what this is about?”

Jill took a look at the crowd around them. A few curious onlookers had already turned their heads. This was the exact opposite of treading lightly! She sighed and scratched the back of her head.

“This isn't exactly the best place for it,” she said. “Actually, we'd like to talk to you down at the station.”

Micaiah's smile vanished and a hard look came into her eyes. _She knows why we're here,_ Jill realized with shock. Somehow, she hadn't really expected that, no matter what information they were working with.

“If that's the case, I think I really should know what this is about,” Micaiah said.

Haar looked at her blankly and shrugged.

“We want you to tell us about the Fire Emblem.”

* * *

Ike had gone over to his father's house last night to demand some answers about his mother and the medallion and who knew what else, but he'd only left with more questions and worries. After the call from Elincia, all Greil would tell them was that their instincts had been right, and whoever was causing trouble in Daein was after Mist too. He said it was the Fire Emblem – Ike knew as much about them as anyone, he figured, but he couldn't think of a single reason they'd be after his sister. Mist was just...Mist. What could she have possibly done to catch their eye?

He called Elincia after he left, but she didn't have any more information to offer. She said she'd called in some outside help, someone with a little insight to their situation. Ike didn't know _what_ he was expecting from that. But when he got the call that morning to pick up Mist and head over to Elincia's office, he wasn't about to say no to whatever was offered.

He just wasn't expecting...this.

Elincia greeted the two of them warmly and invited them inside, where Greil was already waiting. Sitting next to him was an ancient-looking old man. His bright eyes betrayed the age evident in his crooked posture and snow-white hair. He smiled kindly at them, but Ike couldn't push down the suspicion that this man wouldn't be much help to anyone at all.

“This is Director Athos of Elibe's Federal Intelligence Agency in Nabata,” Elincia introduced him.

“No need for any titles. I'm effectively retired now anyway,” Athos said plainly.

“Alright then,” Ike said skeptically. He turned a questioning gaze toward Greil, but Elincia spoke before he could voice his concerns.

“Elibe is the only nation we've seen successfully stop the Fire Emblem's traction, and Athos was in charge of that investigation,” Elincia explained. “I hoped he might shed some light on that.”

“It wasn't the police who did it,” the old man answered honestly. “Explaining it would also require some knowledge of politics in Elibe. It's rather different from here, I think. In the simplest terms, our central government isn't very strong, and our citizens are more loyal to their own states. That's what the Emblem seized on when they tried to invade.

“The trouble they didn't account for is that the states are run very differently from one another, and they chose a bad starting place. Bern has always been a violent place. I don't pretend to understand exactly how it happened, but the entire state somehow came under the control of a very powerful criminal organization a few decades ago called the Black Fang. Now, the Fang has also been in a long-standing feud with an Etrurian organization called Ereshkigal – based out of Arcadia in Nabata, which makes it more familiar, but the details of that aren't important just now.

“The Emblem tried to incite the Fang much the same way they seem to be doing with the malcontents in your troubled province. They didn't account for the Fang's response – none of us really did, if we're being honest – which was to call a truce and temporary alliance with Ereshkigal that lasted until they had successfully driven the Emblem out of Elibe. Amazingly, they succeeded.”

“I don't see how that helps us,” Ike said. “Tellius is nothing like that. If anything, the central government's got too _much_ power.”

“And we're certainly not going to intentionally start any gang wars, but that's not what Athos is suggesting,” Elincia explained patiently. “He's not here to help Tellius. He's here to help _you_.”

“How, exactly?”

“There's not much I can do for you personally,” Athos said. “But I know who can. The Black Fang knows how to fight the Fire Emblem better than anyone else, and they'll be more than happy to help if it means getting another shot at them.”

“I just want to make sure I'm getting this right,” Ike said. “You're the head of Elibe's biggest police force, and you're encouraging us to work with the mob? I might not be great with politics, but that doesn't sound right.”

“It's an unusual situation,” Athos said with laugh. “'Mob' isn't really the word I'd use for them. There's nothing quite like the Black Fang in any other nation, so it's hard to explain how they operate, but they've proven to be an asset on more than one occasion.”

“And you really think they'll agree to help?”

“I do,” Athos said. “They're on their way now.”

* * *

_Then there was Gawain._

_He was unlike anyone she had ever met before, handsome and stubborn and charming in a way that mixed to make her face flush and her heart beat fast, the first person she ever really took a chance on. But he made it easy._

_When had they first met? It must have been an ordinary day in the city with Lillia, running some errand or another. And then there was the confident young police officer, who took one look at her and started spouting silly platitudes and asking after her name with an easy grin. She played off his advances with amusement, entertained by his boldness. When he'd gone, Lillia nudged her shoulder._

_“You like him,” she teased._

_“I do not!” she lied. But if she couldn't even fool herself, what hope did she have of fooling her best friend?_

_She didn't expect to see him again, but she did, and then again, and again. And when he pursued her with the same bold declarations and earnest adoration as that first day, she couldn't help but to love him. On the day he asked for her hand, she nearly told him everything._

_“There's so much you don't know,” she had cried, eyes wet with tears. But he held her hand and looked in her eyes._

_“I know you,” he told her. “Isn't that enough?”_

_For so many years, she needed that to be the truth._


	14. 3-3

_Growing up, she'd lived her life in shadows, hidden away at her mother's behest. It was for her own benefit, she understood, but that didn't make it hurt any less. That was, perhaps, why she loved it here in Gallia so much, where there was no hiding, no question of who she was or how she'd come to be there. Here in Gallia, she was only Elena, the wife and the mother. Everything else, she'd left behind, and she was glad for it. Even if there_ had _been anything worth taking with her, she would have given it up to be with her husband. But her mother had passed, so the only part of her old life worth anything was her decades-long friendship with Lillia, and they spoke often enough still._

_Her children brought her greater joy than she ever imagined having. She looked upon them at times and thought back to the child she had once been, and she marveled at the life she had found. Certainly, the refugee girl who could not speak her own name could not have foreseen so bright a future._

* * *

The room looked cold even if the air was warm, Micaiah thought as she sat before a metal table in an empty interrogation room at the Nevassa police station. She had agreed to follow the detectives back without protest for fear of causing a scene – her grandmother would find out about this eventually, but she could at least keep it from the public, for now.

And right now, her only concern was with what the police already knew. The detectives had been blunt with her, calling out the Fire Emblem by name. But what had led them to her? Had she been betrayed? What would the Emblem get out of that?

She looked up at the sound of the door opening, and the two detectives from before entered the room. They had told her their names when they picked her up, and Micaiah didn't think she'd forget them any time soon. Haar stood by the door, arms crossed, while Jill took a seat across from Micaiah and set a manila folder on the table.

“Thank you for cooperating with us,” Jill said. “Do you know why you're here?”

“No,” Micaiah answered shortly. She resolved to say as little as possible until they were satisfied enough to let her go. The less she said, the less likely it was she would have to lie. She only hoped it worked.

“Alright, then,” Jill said. She opened the folder and pulled out a photo of the one of the Fire Emblem's tags in Daein, marked in bright blue spraypaint. Micaiah couldn't be sure, but she didn't think the Brigade had been responsible for that one. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

“It's all over the news. People are saying it's the Fire Emblem.”

“That's right. Have you ever seen it in person?”

“No,” Micaiah answered automatically. Jill's expression became troubled, and she put the photo away.

“Well, here's where we have a problem. We already know you've seen it before. What we don't know is why you'd lie about it.”

“I think there's been some confusion,” Micaiah said. “I'm not lying. The only place I've seen this symbol is on the news. I suppose it's been painted all over Nevassa, but I don't remember ever seeing it up close.”

“We have a witness who says otherwise,” Jill told her. “Someone who places you right outside the shop where that photo was taken, and what he heard suggests you have very intimate knowledge of what's been going on here.”

“Then your witness must be mistaken. I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I think you do.” Jill sighed. “Listen, our goal here isn't to get you into trouble. We just want to know what's going on. You, of all people, should understand how serious things are now. If you tell us what you know, we can help you.”

Micaiah almost wanted to laugh – recently, it seemed everyone just wanted to 'help' her. But if all the police had on her was some vaguely described eyewitness account, she had nothing to worry about. Grimly, she realized that if the Fire Emblem didn't want her to be caught, she probably wouldn't be.

“I don't have anything else to say,” she told the detective. “Now, were you charging me with something, or am I free to go?”

“We-”

Jill was interrupted by a knock on the door, and she turned to her partner with a frustrated scowl on her face. Haar shrugged and stepped aside to open the door, and Micaiah's mouth fell open in surprise when her uncle was the one who walked through.

“Detectives, I've come to collect my niece,” Sephiran said shortly. “I must admit, I'm surprised you couldn't afford her family the courtesy of some advance notice. I'm sure _the princess_ would have happily complied on a more voluntary basis, had the opportunity presented itself.” Micaiah knew the emphasis on her title was not accidental.

Jill stood, a cautious look on her face when she began to speak. “We're in the middle of an interview-”

“One which is now over, yes. Micaiah, come along.”

She didn't hesitate for a second before following him out of the station, ignoring the accusatory glares leveled at them on the way out. She was just happy to be out of that situation, regardless of how it had happened. And she had to admit, as much as the thought of lying to her family terrified her, she was relieved to see her uncle.

Of course, 'Uncle' Sephiran wasn't really her uncle – he was a cousin of her grandmother, or something of that nature. She'd tried to pinpoint it before, but as Sanaki had once put it, their family 'tree' “sometimes looked more like a game of Cat's Cradle.” It was an exaggeration, sure, but the real thing could be just as twisty at parts. (To this day, they weren't sure where exactly the laguz blood had come in.) But all her life, he'd been looking after both Micaiah and her sister. He'd been her role model growing up, and she'd always tried to emulate the dignified way he carried himself around a group as _un_ dignified as the Tellian senators. Having him around now was calming, in a strange sort of way.

“How did you know I was here?” Micaiah asked as they walked out of the station. Sephiran nodded in the direction of a car waiting by the curb...which Zelgius was driving. Of course. She felt a little foolish for not having predicted that.

“Why did he call _you_?” she asked. Sephiran ignored her question and only ushered her in the direction of the car.

“We're going back to your apartment, and then we're going to have a very long talk,” he said, refusing to look directly at her. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was unhappy with her. Was he angry that she'd gone with the officers? Worried about bad press for her grandmother?

The ride back to her place was quiet, and she sat in the back seat feeling like a guilty child. What did her uncle want to discuss with her? She'd thought talking to the police was bad, but she knew she could lie to them. With her uncle, she wasn't so sure.

But he didn't say a word until they were safely within her apartment, the door shut and locked behind them and guarded by Zelgius besides. Then Sephiran turned to her, took a deep breath, and placed his hands on his hips.

“This has gotten out of hand,” he said. “It was quite mad to begin with, but I feel it's safe to say we've crossed a line here. Micaiah, _what were you thinking?”_

She couldn't say what sort of stupidity made her respond with, “Could you be more specific?”

“It was one thing when you were running around putting up posters and passing petitions, and I could even overlook the trespassing and the vandalism. But what could possibly have inspired you to take up with a group as terrible as the Fire Emblem? You put your own sister in danger!”

“You...you know about all that? How?”

He favored her with a painfully familiar look of disappointment. Shaking his head, he walked past her and took a seat on her couch. Crossing his legs primly, he remarked, “The Dawn Brigade, led by the 'Maiden of Dawn'. Or, as she's more recently come to be known, the 'Silver-Haired Maiden'.” Uncle Sephiran spoke as if he were reciting an old poem. He sighed. “Dear, there simply aren't many silver-haired girls running around Daein. Wasn't there a hood you used to wear as a disguise? Whatever happened to that?”

“I still wear it on jobs!” Micaiah cried in surprise, hurrying over to stand before him at the couch. How had he even found out about that? “I don't know how people made the connection to my hair!”

“I don't think the 'how' matters much at this point, Micaiah.” He patted the seat on the couch next to him, and she sat down with a sad huff. “What matters is getting you out of this mess. I assume the attack on Sanaki was _your_ attempt at that.”

Micaiah looked away in shame, wringing her hands. “That was him showing what happens if I don't follow instructions. Uncle Sephiran, I don't know what to do! I can't say no, or he'll hurt Sanaki, or worse! But if I do what he says...”

To her surprise, he put his arms around her and drew her into a hug. She curled into it without a thought and he rested his chin atop her head. “I'm sorry for not stepping in sooner,” he said softly. “Had I realized how much you were struggling...no, never mind that. I'm sorry all the same. It's time to put an end to this madness.”

“But I can't! What about-”

“My only concern is for you and your sister. Neither of you will come to any harm. You trust me, don't you?” Micaiah pulled back from his embrace and nodded vigorously. She had a great many misgivings about all of this, but she had never doubted her uncle before. She wasn't about to start now. He smiled in response. “Now then, how does the Fire Emblem usually contact you?”

She pointed to the phone she'd left laying on the coffee table earlier. “Every day at the same time, he calls to give me a job.”

Sephiran nodded to Zelgius, who walked over and collected the phone. He took a quick look over it and shook his head. “It's a burner, and I'm guessing the caller is using one too. Even if we manage to trace it, by the time we do, he'll have found himself a new one.”

“I suppose that's to be expected,” Sephiran said. He turned back to Micaiah. “What time does he usually call?”

“It won't be until later tonight,” she said.

He shrugged. “We can wait.”

They actually did, much to her dismay. Her only comfort was that Zelgius did eventually step away from the door and take a seat – Micaiah's feet were starting to hurt just looking at him. 

Of the time it took for the call to come through, Micaiah spent most of it praying she wouldn't make any mistakes. What if the Emblem realized they were being listened in on? What if she did something to give it away? But Sephiran must have trusted her. He would never intentionally put Sanaki in danger (and Micaiah held no illusions about his poorly concealed favoritism).

The call came through right on time and she took a deep breath before answering, both her uncle's and her bodyguard's eyes watching her carefully.

“Hello?” she said.

“Good evening,” a strange voice answered back. She startled at once, nearly dropping the phone in her surprise. That was not a voice she recognized! Sephiran sent her a stern look and she shook her head. To him, it must have looked like she was breaking down.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“You know who this is,” the voice answered. “I am merely another facet of the operation, but that doesn't concern you. I will speak, and you will listen, the same as always. We have an arrangement, and you won't-! You will listen, same as always.”

The man Micaiah had always spoken to before was far from soothing, but he was concise and clear. This man...he spoke quickly, strangely, halting between words to mutter lowly in a manner that spoke to some instability. His very tone of voice carried within it a sort of wavering quality that put her on edge.

“I'm listening,” she said.

“As always. Now, I have a job for you. Only for you, not whatever wretches you've been carrying along. I don't need them, only you. You'll go to Crimea, that's where I need you. And then I'll say why, but not before.”

“Where in Crimea?”

“The capital, to Melior, and you won't be hard to find. I already know that. She won't be hard to find, either, I know that too. I'll find her and you'll find her, that's how it will work. Go to Crimea. You have two days.”

“Two days?”

“To get there, only two days, or you know what I will do. I will know if you are there, and I will know if you are not.”

“I understand. I'll leave right away.”

“Yes, yes,” he said, and then he abruptly disconnected the call. Micaiah placed the phone down on the coffee table silently, then looked into the focused eyes of her uncle.

“That's not how it usually goes,” she said.

“Do you think he has people watching you?” Sephiran asked. “Perhaps he knew we were here with you.”

“She's clean,” Zelgius said confidently. “If anyone were following her, I'd know. And we already swept for bugs. It's not that.”

“I don't know _what_ that was,” Micaiah said, ignoring the implication that the two of them had been snooping around her apartment while she was out. She could revisit that later. “I've never spoken to that man before. But the one I talked to always said 'we', like there was more than one of them. Maybe this is just another part of that 'we'.”

“That seems entirely possible,” Sephiran said. “Of course, we really have no way of knowing for sure.”

“So we have nothing,” Micaiah said. “Just more questions. What do we do now?”

Sephiran regarded her calmly.

“Why, we go to Crimea, of course.”

* * *

Cordelia's record at work was spotless. Her arrests were clean and consistently prosecuted, she frequently worked overtime to maximize returns on a case, and she'd never been accused of any sort of misconduct – which was why she was so anxious when Captain Phila called her and Sumia both in for an impromptu meeting.

Sumia hadn't looked much better than Cordelia herself, when she heard about it. “You don't think the captain found out about our trip to you-know-where, do you?” she asked.

“We weren't there in any official capacity,” Cordelia reminded her. “We didn't do anything wrong.” But the fear remained: what if the captain saw through that excuse? This wasn't a court of law; Phila didn't need a mountain of evidence to accuse them of overstepping professional boundaries.

But the meeting was brief, only a summons to direct them to what was, frankly, an even more terrifying prospect: a separate meeting with the prime minister and Director Walhart of the bureau. When their shift ended a few hours later, the two of them dropped the dogs off at home and drove back to the city, toward the capitol building. Cordelia greeted the minister's secretary as they entered the lobby of her floor, keeping a steadying hand on Sumia's arm. The woman was practically shaking with nervous energy. Libra smiled politely at them as they sat down in the plush armchairs lining the wall by the door.

“It's probably something to do with Panne,” Cordelia said to Sumia in an attempt to calm her. “I took her to meet with the minister the other day, and it seemed to go well. She seemed less...angry about things, at least.”

“Then, do you think she mentioned our trip?” Sumia said, tilting her head. “Or maybe she just asked Emmeryn to let us in on their investigation again! Maybe we're not in trouble after all!”

“If we were in trouble, I'd like to think we'd know it by now,” Cordelia said with a wry smile. She was fairly confident they weren't being disciplined; the captain would have taken care of that. She really wasn't sure what to expect, though. Her best guess was that new information had surfaced in the Fire Emblem case, but if that was true, Panne hadn't breathed a word of it to either of them. She thought back to that meeting a few days ago, and how much calmer Panne had been afterward. She didn't really know much about the relationship between the minister and the the taguel, but judging by the results of that meeting alone, if Emmeryn had told Panne to keep quiet, Cordelia believed she would.

“We're her friends, though,” Sumia said when Cordelia voiced those thoughts.

“Emmeryn might be, too,” Cordelia pointed out. “And even if she's not, I think Panne respects her a great deal. As much as we do, at least. And think of it this way: if Captain Phila gave you classified information and told you to keep it from me, you would, wouldn't you? It's part of the job.”

Sumia looked at her worriedly. “I don't think the captain would do that,” she said. “I'm not very good at keeping secrets.”

Cordelia laughed lightly. “I don't know about that. You didn't tell anyone about Panne, after all.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “The minister should be calling us in any minute now. Try not worry, alright?”

“Right,” Sumia said confidently.

Emmeryn herself came out into the lobby to collect them, wearing her usual serene smile. It seemed to calm Sumia, though Cordelia found it nearly off-putting. Whatever they were about to discuss, she had a feeling it wouldn't end with her smiling. The uneasy feeling doubled when they went back to her office and Walhart was waiting there, a scowl on his face.

“Thank you for coming in today,” Emmeryn said when they had all gotten situated. “Sumia, Cordelia, I'll be frank with you: the reason I called you in is to ask about your visit to Mount Prism.”

“Oh,” Sumia gasped, and then she went quiet, likely out of shame. Cordelia kept silent as well, having no interest in incriminating herself.

“You aren't in any trouble,” Emmeryn continued. “I've spoken to Panne, and I understand why you did what you did. I do wish you would have come to me first, but I know you were only trying to protect her. Now please, tell us about your trip. Every detail helps.”

“Of course,” Cordelia said. “But first, may I ask the reason?”

“Don't push your luck,” Walhart scoffed. “You're not in trouble _yet_. Don't give me cause to change that assessment.”

Emmeryn frowned but made no move to contradict him. Cordelia straightened her back and gave her report, thinking back to every moment she could recall of their mostly unremarkable trip to the reservation.

“The only thing that really stood out, sir, was the woman at the visitor center. Tiki, I believe her name was. When we first spoke, she was friendly and open, but when I brought up the topic of Plegia, she became defensive. Soon after, she came up with an obvious excuse to end the conversation.”

“What exactly did you say to her?” Walhart asked.

“I asked her...first, I asked her if the trouble in Plegia had affected them. Then, whether we were the first Ylisseans she had seen in a while.” Cordelia paused a moment, considering whether her own observations were worth noting. “By the time we left, I had a strong suspicion that they were harboring the Plegian Panne has been hunting. But without any evidence, I wasn't comfortable bringing that information to Captain Phila.”

“And what made you feel so certain?”

“I just can't imagine any other reason for her to react so strangely to the mention of Plegia. Even if it's not that, she was definitely hiding something. Her body language, her tone of voice... Our questions made her uncomfortable, even though she was perfectly fine when the conversation began.”

“I'm almost impressed,” Walhart said. He turned to Emmeryn. “This is what I meant when I said I wanted new blood. Not that one, obviously – I don't need any more loose cannons. But someone as sharp, anyway.”

“I'll keep it in mind,” Emmeryn said, smile becoming strained. “Did you have any more questions for them?”

“I've got everything I need. Dismiss them.”

Emmeryn nodded at them, and Cordelia was all too happy to flee the room, Sumia right at her side. Out in the lobby, she let out a deep breath of relief and Sumia giggled nervously.

“That was just awful,” Sumia said. “And I didn't even have to say anything! The director is a very intimidating man, isn't he?”

“I suppose you have to be, to run a department like that,” Cordelia said. She still felt shaken, enough that she didn't even question why the director had been curious about Mount Prism in the first place. She was only relieved to have survived the encounter with her job intact.

* * *

Athos had ended their meeting by giving them one last piece of information: a time and a place.

“The Black Fang will meet you there,” the old man said, and then he left. If it had been up to him, Ike would have followed and tried to get more answers, but when he'd moved to do that, Greil had grabbed his arm to keep him in place.

“He has to know more than that,” Ike said.

“He came here on a courtesy,” Greil said. “Be grateful he gave us anything at all.”

Ike wasn't satisfied with that, but he understood what his father meant. Sometimes you just had to leave well enough alone. After his father and sister left, he turned to Elincia, who had been more or less quiet the entire time.

“You're okay with all this?” Ike asked. “This seems like the kind of thing the police would have an opinion on.”

“This isn't a police matter yet,” Elincia said. “If you ask me to help, I will, gladly, but if you tell me to keep my distance...there haven't been any specific threats against Mist, and I can't force her into protective custody. For now, we'll keep investigating on our own. If anything happens, please keep us informed.”

“Same goes for you.”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Early the next morning, Ike met Greil at the city's largest park, the place Athos had designated as their contact point with the Fang. They'd already agreed Mist was to stay out of it for now – if things went sour, neither of them wanted her anywhere nearby. Greil had tried to enforce the same rules on Ike, and he was pretty sure it would have worked if he were a few years younger.

He joined his father on an old bench next to the lake, not bothering with a hello to announce himself. The park was dead-quiet this early, and he couldn't see a single other person around, not so much as a jogger in the distance. Greil must have heard him coming, because he looked up and nodded as he sat down.

“Run into any trouble on the way over?” Greil asked.

“Didn't see anyone following me, if that's what you mean,” Ike answered. “How's Mist?”

“Upset that I left her home, but she'll get over it.” Greil was quiet for a moment. “And how are you holding up?”

“Huh? I'm fine, I guess.”

“No issues? Everything's okay?”

Ike paused. It seemed like everyone wanted to know his business these days. He had everything under control, so why couldn't anyone just give him a little space? “I'm fine,” he repeated.

Greil sighed. “Your sister isn't the only one I'm worried about here. You said you'd talk to me if you...if things started to come back up. You have something you want to share, son?”

He really didn't want to share any of the things that had been waking him up in the middle of the night lately – didn't want to think about them at all, in fact. He was also not well-versed in lying to his father.

Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer at all by a sudden shadow over their heads. He turned around to see a tall blonde man standing behind their bench, hands in the pockets of his long coat and a cool smile on his face.

“Greil and Ike, I take it?”

Greil considered him warily. “Brendan Reed?”

“No, but I can take you to him.” He paused. “We seem to be missing someone. Where's the girl?”

“Somewhere safe,” Greil replied.

“That could be a good thing, if she's being followed. Anyway, we can talk about that later. Come with me.” He began to walk away and then turned back, adding almost as an afterthought, “Oh, I never introduced myself, did I? The name's Lloyd Reed.”

Ike looked to his father, who only shrugged. “What have we got to lose?” he muttered. They followed the man out of the park and back to a rented car. Judging by the look on his father's face, Ike decided Greil trusted the stranger about as much as he himself did, but going with him for now seemed like a safe gamble. If it came down to it, he figured the two of them could overpower him easily enough.

After a tense car ride, they ended up at a cheap motel outside of the city. The stranger parked and pulled out a room key, then beckoned them to follow him to a door on the second floor. He called out a quick greeting as he walked inside.

It was answered by a gruff-looking man seated at a table by the door. He was covered in scars, a particularly deep one running down one eye. With the other, he looked them over critically and then nodded to himself.

“These are the ones?” he said.

“Minus the girl,” Lloyd answered. “Should I get her, or would you rather send Linus?”

“We don't have time to wait for him – I'll go, you keep an eye on things here. No one tried to tail you?”

“Not a soul around.”

“Hm. I'll keep an eye out on our way back.” Brendan stood and turned to Greil. “I'm Brendan Reed, head of the Black Fang. You must be Greil. I assume you want to come along?”

“What I _want_ is for my daughter to be kept out of all of this,” Greil said.

“I can understand that,” Brendan said. “Doesn't change anything.”

“As long as we're clear.”

He opened the motel room door and Greil started out, then turned and beckoned to Ike.

“Go get Mist. I'll stay here,” Ike said. The decision was born out of equal parts a compulsion to keep an eye on these strangers and a desire to be away from his father's questioning eyes. Even if he hadn't said anything since the park, Ike could tell Greil was just waiting for a moment alone to bring up a whole host of things he didn't want to talk about.

“That's fine with me,” Lloyd offered, sitting down in the chair his father had just vacated. “He can fill me in on what you already know.” Greil made a conflicted face, but after a minute, he sighed and agreed. 

After Greil and Brendan had left, Ike took the seat opposite Lloyd's at the table, and the man spoke again. “Well, no need to waste time. Let's get started. Tell me everything you know about the Fire Emblem.”

Ike thought the question was funny, since that was exactly what they'd brought the Fang in for, but he complied. “Far as they relate to us, not much,” he said. “They're driving Nevassa crazy, they stole a necklace, and they attacked my sister and a princess. I really don't know what else to say.”

Lloyd smirked. “You know, that's not even the strangest sequence of events that lot's been behind.”

“So you think you know what they're after?”

“Not with you, no. With Daein and the princess? I can hazard a guess. Everywhere the Fire Emblem goes, they spread chaos. Usually by infiltrating powerful government bodies and dismantling them from the inside. They latch on to instability, and I hear your Senate's got a lot of that to spare.”

“But they haven't gone after the Senate,” Ike pointed out.

“I doubt they will,” Lloyd said. “More likely, they're already a part of it. I'd say the Fire Emblem has been in Tellius a lot longer than anyone's realized, and these attacks are just them going public about it.”

Ike thought back to that second job Sanaki had brought to them, the files on the Senate. Soren had dug something up there, but he wouldn't say what, exactly, only that he needed to look into it more. Could all of that have been related to the Fire Emblem? He wasn't about to bring it up in front of Lloyd Reed or anyone else outside of his own company.

“So let's say they just want to see the country burn,” Ike said. “What does my sister have to do with any of it?”

Lloyd opened his mouth to speak, and then the door to the adjoining room opened suddenly and a copper-haired man wandered in, yawning. He glanced between Lloyd and Ike and frowned.

“Which one is this?” he asked.

“Ike, the brother,” Lloyd said. Waving in the man's direction, he said, “This is Linus, _my_ brother. I'd like to say he's usually better behaved than this.”

“Good to meet you, I guess,” Linus said. “Aren't there supposed to be three of them? And where's father?”

“With the other two,” Lloyd said impatiently. “They'll be back before long. In the meantime, I was just about to answer Ike's question: what does the Fire Emblem want with his sister?”

Linus fell onto his back on one of the twin beds along the wall gracelessly and laughed. “Well, let's start with the easy explanations. She got any dragon in her?”

Ike wasn't sure if that was meant to be a joke or not, because it was far from a normal question. He looked to Lloyd for an explanation, but the other man was staring back at him with a completely serious look on his face.

“Not that I'm aware of,” Ike said slowly. “As far I know, we're all completely average beorc.”

“The hell's beorc?” Linus muttered. “Sounds like some kinda fancy seafood.”

Lloyd shook his head. “It's the Tellian word for humans, Linus. He's saying they don't have any dragon blood.” He turned to Ike. “To be clear, we're talking about manaketes, not dragon laguz.”

“Answer's the same,” Ike said.

“Right, so that's one possibility nixed,” Linus said, counting off on his fingers. “Here's option two: you from some secret royal bloodline?”

Ike had to laugh at that idea. It was at once more plausible and more outlandish than the idea that they were secretly dragons. “We're definitely not royalty,” he said.

“Well, that's all I can come up with off the top of my head,” Linus said. “Dragons and royalty are pretty much the two big things the Fire Emblem can't leave alone.”

Ike narrowed his eyes. “Okay, the royalty thing I get,” he said. “If the whole point is to mess with the government, going after the monarchy sounds like an easy way to do it. But why dragons?”

“Good question,” Lloyd said. “Wish we knew. Maybe they _are_ dragons, or maybe they just want to win them over. Maybe they just feel bad for them. Whatever the reason, the Emblem goes out of its way to avoid hurting manaketes. The whole time they were in Elibe, they never touched Arcadia – which has the largest manakete population in the country – even after Ereshkigal turned on them. There's definitely something to that.”

“Ereshkigal...Athos mentioned them. He said they were like a rival gang?”

“They're a bunch of soulless monsters is what they are,” Linus growled. “Don't even get me started!”

“Really, please don't,” Lloyd said deadpan. “You could make the argument that Ereshkigal is...functionally similar to us, but the Fang takes pride in the good we do. Look at it this way: we use our gains for the people, Ereshkigal uses the people for its own gains. But back to the Emblem: you found out they were after your sister because of a necklace, right?”

“A medallion that belonged to my mother,” Ike said. “Don't know why they wanted it, but they're plastering imitations all over Nevassa. People are saying its their trademark here, their...well, their 'Fire Emblem'.”

“Sounds about right,” Lloyd said. “They use a new symbol everywhere they go, but it's hard to say how they're picking them. Obviously, that medallion means something to them. Where did your mother get it?”

“We're not sure. Dad thinks it might have been passed down in her family.”

“Well, where's her family from?”

Ike scratched his head. “We're not really sure about that, either.”

Linus sat up and leaned forward. “How do you not know that?” he asked. Ike shrugged. It really hadn't seemed important until recently – his mother was his mother, what else did he need to know? Only, the answer was 'kind of a lot', apparently.

“We'll have to look into that,” Lloyd said, “but I'd say it's a safe bet your mother is the missing key here. Tell me about her.”

“She was...” Ike trailed off, lost for words. What could he say about her? He barely remembered her. She was kind, she was gentle, she liked to sing? That obviously wasn't the sort of information the Fang wanted to know. What they'd want to know was what had happened to her, and Ike didn't want to talk about that. “She was murdered when I was a kid,” he said finally.

Lloyd frowned. “What happened?”

“Shot. Burglary gone wrong.”

“You sure about that?”

Was he? Flashes of those dreams kept coming back to him, from the old house back in Gallia. His mother crying, but he could never remember what about. He'd been denying it for a long time, but he'd always known something was wrong about it all.

“No,” he admitted. “No, I'm not.”

* * *

_First there was her son, who had looked so much like her at birth that she had feared for him. But the resemblance to his father, both in looks and attitude, only increased with age, and she let those fears fall behind her and delighted instead at this life she and her husband had created._

_Next came their daughter, who went the opposite way of her brother. Born with her father's bright eyes and soft brown hair, she instead took after Elena's gentle nature, but there was no denying those bouts of stubborn willfulness that mirrored the confident young man Elena had met all those years ago._

_She loved all three of them so dearly. She would have given anything to preserve their smiles._


	15. 3-4

_She wasn't expecting the end._

_By that point in her life, she thought she had escaped her past, that she had buried it with her mother in a plain grave outside Nevassa. Even the name of the girl she had been before she was Elena felt foreign in her own mind: a distant, uncomfortable memory. She watched the revelry on the television when the Archanean king was crowned, the boy they'd all thought dead so many years ago, and she felt the stirrings of an old longing, but only just that._

_The call came in the afternoon, after she'd sent the children out to play. She could barely hear the words that were spoken through desperate, heaving gasps for air, but she knew the voice as well as her own._

_“Elena...run...” Lillia panted, voice dripping with a pain Elena couldn't imagine. “You have...to run!”_

_She never got the chance._

_“Lillia?” she cried into the phone, confused and afraid, but there was no answer. She did not hear the door open behind her. “Lillia, what's happened? Are you okay? Please, answer me!”_

_She did hear it shut._

* * *

The Black Fang had promised help, and it was a weight off Mist's shoulders, if only because it took some of the pressure off her father and brother. It didn't hurt that she actually liked them, too, which was a surprise given that they were technically a gang. Brendan Reed and his sons, Lloyd and Linus, reminded Mist of Greil and Ike, in a way. So she shouldn't have been surprised they had their very own 'Mist' with them, too.

It wasn't long after Greil and Brendan drove her back to the motel that Nino bounced into the room with a sun-bright smile and a childish laugh, and really, even though she shouldn't have been, Mist was still surprised.

“You must be Mist,” Nino said, bounding right up to hug her. “I'm Nino, and those two-” she pointed to Linus and Lloyd, standing proudly in the corner, “-are my brothers. You know, we're only a couple years apart. I'd love to be friends!”

Taken aback, Mist could only nod. Why had they brought this girl here? By Ashunera, she couldn't be more than 14 or 15! This was much too dangerous! But before she could open her mouth, Nino was jabbering on again.

“Well, but I guess that would have to wait until the job is over, wouldn't it?” she said with a pout. “Oh, have they told you? I'm going to be you! For a little while, at least. I get to wear a wig and everything!”

“That's, um...I'm glad you're so excited,” Mist stammered out. Truthfully, she could see the resemblance. They were about the same height, they both had blue eyes, and Mist didn't think she was usually so...perky, but she _was_ fairly cheerful, so... But that wasn't the point! Mist shook her head. “Wait one minute! Nino, what do you mean, you're going to be me? You can't do that! It's way too dangerous! The people who are after me have already attacked once before!”

Nino giggled, and more surprisingly, her brothers snickered along. “Oh, don't worry about me,” she said, waving her hand. “I'm not just here for show. The Black Fang takes its jobs _very_ seriously! I promise, I can handle whatever that dumb Fire Emblem throws at me. Besides, my brothers will be close by too, just in case something does happen.”

“That's not-!”

“She'll be fine,” Brendan said, placing a sturdy hand on his daughter's shoulder. “This isn't her first job; Nino's well-trained for this sort of thing. I wouldn't have brought her along if she couldn't handle it.”

“Yep!” Nino agreed proudly. “All we have to do is follow the plan, and everything will be just fine!”

Mist was starting to have serious doubts about that. She spared a glance toward her father and brother standing off to the side of the room. They looked equally lost.

“Um...what is the plan?” she asked.

“Someone in the Fire Emblem is following you,” Brendan explained. “Your father already suspected as much, so he's had one of his own men doing the same-” Mist looked to her father in shock, but his expression didn't change. “-but he hasn't been able to catch whoever it is. We're going to lay a trap, using Nino as bait. She'll go out disguised as you and try to draw the target in, and when she's got him on her tail, she'll lead him straight to her brothers.”

“And then?”

“And then we take care of things,” Brendan said with finality. “You don't need to worry about anything more than that.”

* * *

That first jaunt to the manakete reservation, Panne had restrained herself. Despite her anger, she'd recognized that Cordelia and Sumia were trying to help her, so she resisted her impulses and did as they asked, staying quiet and keeping to the background. She had no intention of repeating that mistake on her second visit.

The miserable Plegian woman Emmeryn had picked up told them Mount Prism was where they would find their connection to the Fire Emblem. Everything about that woman reeked of danger, lies and manipulation, but Emmeryn and Walhart both seemed to believe her. Emmeryn was too trusting by far, but Panne knew Walhart's conclusion had come from impartially gauging the situation. His cold detachment to his fellow men was one of the things she most disliked about him, after all. (Ranking just below the part where he'd imprisoned her for a crime she hadn't committed.)

This time, Emmeryn was making an official visit out of it, and she didn't hesitate before asking Panne to come along. Equally surprising, she told Panne that Walhart would not be joining them. The minister and the director had disagreed on how they should move forward with the situation. Walhart's plan involved sending his own men to Mount Prism covertly to locate and neutralize any threats they found there. Emmeryn's preferred method was diplomacy.

“And so I diplomatically conceded to Walhart's plan,” Emmeryn said, “and now, while he's distracted, we'll address things peacefully. I've met with the manakete leader on numerous occasions. She's a good woman. If I can speak to her, I believe we can find a non-violent solution to our troubles.”

“You're turning on your own people,” Panne commented, surprised but not displeased.

“I'm doing what I must to _save_ my people. _All_ of my people.”

They left for Mount Prism that same day – the two of them, alone. During the ride, Panne thought to ask more about the Scouring incident Cordelia had told her about, the time the humans had nearly driven the dragonkin to extinction.

“You aren't familiar with it already?” Emmeryn asked. “I'm surprised. The events that followed were what spurred the attacks on your people.”

“There was a reason? I was told the humans always hated us.”

“It's not untrue. Relations between our peoples were already poor,” Emmeryn admitted. “You said Cordelia told you about the Scouring? It only lasted a year, but it was brutal. The remaining manaketes mostly went into hiding at that time. Ten years later, some resurfaced and attacked the royal family of Archanea, the country where the Scouring began. It was thought the only survivor at the time was the king, Cornelius. Of course, we learned much later that his son Marth, only an infant at the time, was safely hidden away with a foster family. He's the king now, crowned 15 years ago.”

“How is this related to the taguel?” Panne asked impatiently.

“Well, after the attack, the manakete were split into two factions: those who supported what was done, and those who did not. The latter camp was larger, and they were instrumental in bringing the perpetrators to justice. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. You see, my family is distantly related to the Archanean royal family. In response to the violence in Archanea, my father, who was prime minister of Ylisse at the time, began his campaign to eradicate non-humans in our country. Or perhaps he only used Archanea as an excuse to do something he had already planned. It was an unforgivable thing, either way.”

“It was,” Panne agreed. “I never knew it was because of the dragonkin. We have virtually nothing in common.”

“Manakete and taguel are both 'others' to most humans. Unfortunately, that's usually enough.”

They drove on in silence and arrived at the reservation in the late afternoon. Emmeryn set off in one direction and Panne pulled her back, toward the visitor center they'd gone to last time. Cordelia had said there was something off about the clerk there, and Panne agreed. As they'd left, she could read something close to fear on her, or maybe closer to anxiety. Something to hide, in any case.

The center that day had been sparsely populated, but today it was empty but for one occupant. When they went inside, the desk was being watched by the same woman as before, but the gentle, almost lazy disposition she'd worn then was gone. She eyed them suspiciously from the moment they walked through the door.

“Can I help you?” Tiki asked warily.

“Perhaps,” Emmeryn said. “My name is Emmeryn Lo-”

“You're the prime minister,” Tiki said shortly, cutting her off. “Is this about the other man? He isn't back yet.”

“The other man?”

After a brief pause, the woman relaxed slightly. “Forgive me. I must have been mistaken. What can I help you with?”

She was reverting back to the same tactics she'd used the last time, trying to change the topic to something inoffensive. Again, they'd stumbled onto something the manakete didn't want them to know. Before Emmeryn could respond, Panne stepped forward and said, “You remember me, don't you?”

“Yes,” Tiki answered after a moment's hesitation. “There aren't many taguel left. I wouldn't forget your visit.”

“I don't think I'm the only reason you remember it, though.” Tiki looked away. Perhaps sensing what she was about to do, Emmeryn placed a hand on Panne's shoulder, as if to stop her, but Panne shook her off. “You know why we're here.”

“Do I?” Tiki muttered.

“Validar, the Fire Emblem, _whatever_ it is you're hiding: it's over now.”

Tiki finally looked back at her, and though the woman was skilled at masking her emotions, she made no effort to hide the anger in her eyes. At Panne's side, Emmeryn was pleading, “I apologize, please, if I could just speak with Nagi-”

“You can be angry all you want, but it won't make me leave,” Panne continued. “The man you're hiding deserves everything he has coming to him, and I intend to deliver. Or will you watch the country burn? Is your tribe a part of this too?” Panne expected the words to anger Tiki further, but it had the opposite effect: instead, the emotion fell away from her face entirely, leaving her with that impassive mask.

“You must be confused,” Tiki said calmly. “Minister, I don't want to make an incident out of this, but your friend's accusations are quite alarming. Perhaps you would do better to contact our chief in a more official capacity, before this misunderstanding gets out of hand.”

“Yes, of course,” Emmeryn said quickly, but Panne cut her off with a low growl.

“Do you care at all about what's happening?” Panne said. “Or do you only care about your own kind? Do you think he won't turn on you, too? Why should you be any different than me?” 

Even as she spoke, she realized her words would have no effect on the stoic woman. She was loyal to whoever she was hiding...or, Panne realized quite suddenly, perhaps she was only distrusting of outsiders. And hadn't Panne been in the same situation until very recently? How had she been brought out of it?

Emmeryn. The first time they'd met, Emmeryn had had every reason to believe Panne was working with the Fire Emblem, but she hadn't accused her of anything. She hadn't used threats at all. Instead, she'd approached her earnestly, honestly, baring her own soul in an attempt to win Panne's trust. The thought of doing the same was terrifying to Panne, but she had debts to repay. One to Emmeryn, and one to Validar.

“Listen to me,” she began, willing herself not to stumble over the words. “When I was only a child, I watched my family, most of my warren, die. Those of us who survived ran and hid, but it wasn't long before the humans found us again. And again. And again. The last time I saw one of my own kind, I was twelve years old.” She closed her eyes involuntarily, thinking of the things she'd witnessed. “I thought I was the last of us. I thought I was alone.” She opened her eyes, and Tiki looked shaken. Panne had told Emmeryn the taguel and the manakete had virtually nothing in common, but perhaps that wasn't true. Perhaps this was a history only their two kinds could truly understand.

“Two months ago, someone told me there was another taguel in the north,” Panne continued. “So I went, even though I should have known better. But it had been so long...” This was the hard part, the truth, the things she never wanted to say. “I was alone. I was desperate. I was a fool. I went, and it was a trap. If I'd been less lucky, I wouldn't be here right now. I'd be dead, or locked away at the very least.”

“But you're not,” Tiki said slowly.

“No, I'm not. It's not about that.”

“It's about what he took from you.” Tiki spoke with a sad certainty that Panne couldn't guess the meaning of.

“It was,” Panne admitted. “And now it's about keeping him from doing it again, from hurting anyone else. He plays games with people's lives. Don't let him use you, too.”

Before she turned her gaze to the ground, Panne thought she saw faint relief in Tiki's expression. But when she looked up again, her face was set in stern determination.

“I understand.”

* * *

Ike was in his room. Not his room, not really, though it had been once. Back when he was a kid, this was what his room had looked like, hadn't it? It was weird, but the carpet was what gave it away. Their old house had a lot of carpet, but the apartment didn't have any. He looked down at his hands, and they were too small. Too small to be his, and too small to be holding the heavy medallion, so he set it on the carpet. He walked to the door, head barely as high the handle on it, and he turned the knob. It should have been locked. He pushed the door open, just a crack, and looked outside...

Ike woke up with a splitting headache and a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew he'd had that dream before, but the details were already fading. That was fine – he was pretty sure he didn't want to know what came next. He pushed the uneasiness away and looked at the clock on the nightstand before climbing out of bed. He'd woken up before his alarm again; that had been happening a lot lately. It was still dark out, but he didn't think he'd be getting any more sleep.

He managed to kill the hours until daylight watching bad TV, which took his mind of the dreams, at least. Still, he never liked sitting around, so he was relieved when it was time to get to work. And work today meant a meeting with the Black Fang.

He set out for downtown Melior to the coffee shop the Reeds said they would meet at. When he got there, he realized with a bit of humor that it was the same place Mist had tried to talk him into a few weeks ago. The amusement turned to discomfort when Nino came skipping in not long after, and Ike tried to ignore how bizarre it was to see her dressed up like his sister, even wearing her old clothes. The resemblance was actually kind of uncanny. Nino was just a little bit shorter and thinner, and their faces were similar if not anywhere near identical, but none of that was obvious from a distance. And when she spoke, it was eerily similar to the way Mist used to babble on when she was that age.

“Good morning!” she called cheerfully, coming to a halt at his side. “It is a good morning, isn't it? The sun's so bright today! And you know, the place we're staying at is actually a lot nicer than it looks, I had such a good night's sleep! How about you? What have you been up to since yesterday?” He gave her the briefest response he could, and she smiled happily. After a pause, she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the cafe counter to place their order. “The hard part for me is picking what to get,” she said. “I don't get to go to a lot of places like this, so I always try something new. Hm...”

In the end, she rattled off some weird, long combination of words that Ike was pretty sure were mostly made up, but the barista didn't so much as flinch. She just repeated it back and then looked at Ike.

The menu board next to the counter was handwritten in chalk in a curly script, and he couldn't tell if his inability to read it was because of that, or because he was looking at drink names he'd never heard of before. So he just went with the simplest order he could think of.

“Coffee, black.”

Nino made a face. “I could never drink that. Linus says that's childish, but I say it's just good taste.” She paused. “Um, no offense.”

“None taken,” he answered. Why would he be offended by that?

After they collected their drinks, Nino chose a table at the far corner of the shop to sit at. She sipped at her mug and smiled. “Now we play the waiting game,” she said.

“And how long do we do that?” Ike asked.

“As long as it takes?” Nino said, but she sounded unsure. “I was walking around outside for a while before I came in, and my brothers think someone was following me. They're keeping an eye on the street outside, so they'll let us know if we're wasting our time.”

“Got it.” Ike was content to sit there quietly until they got the all clear, but Nino apparently was not. Right away, she started swinging her feet under the table and tapping her fingers on top of it.

“This is kind of dull, isn't it?” she said. “We should talk about something. We're basically strangers – there's so much ground to cover! Oh! I know! Tell me about the people you work with.”

Ike didn't really see why that should interest her, but if that was what she wanted to ask, he didn't have a problem answering. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything! Everything! See, we did some research before we came here, so I know their names and faces, but I don't know anything about who they are, really. When this is all done, I want to meet them in person. So tell me about them!”

Ike decided not to ask about that research. If it was anything he needed to worry about, he figured it would have come up by now. Besides, if he was in the Fang's position, sent to some foreign country to work a case with strangers, he would have done the same kind of investigation beforehand.

“Alright,” he said. “Where should I start?”

“Hm...what about the red-haired man? What was his name, Wrys?”

“Rhys,” Ike corrected. “You were close, though. He's worked for the company five or six years now, I think. He's usually at the front desk, the guy the customers see before they actually hire us. He's good at that; he's got the kind of personality people trust: friendly, non-threatening, and hard to upset. He's got the patience of a saint.”

“He sounds just like Father Lucius,” Nino said with a wistful sigh. “Oh, that's a friend of mine back in Elibe. He runs an orphanage – I have lots of friends there, too.”

Ike snorted. Somehow, it was easy to imagine Rhys as a priest.

“So that's Rhys,” Nino said. “Who else? Oh, I remember seeing a picture of a really cool-looking girl with pretty, long hair.”

“Mia's the only woman on staff right now. She's only been with us about two years, but she's reliable. And, uh, enthusiastic is probably a good word for it. I send her out on a job, I know she's not cutting any corners.” The only complaint he had about Mia was her tendency to attract unwanted attention when they were supposed to be laying low, but she handled herself well enough otherwise that he could overlook the occasional slip-up.

“I can't wait to meet her! I bet she's just as cool and strong as she looks. I don't have any sisters, but if I did, I'd want them to be like that. You had two more people on your team, right?”

“Soren and Boyd,” Ike said.

“The short one and the muscly one,” Nino said, nodding along. “In my head, you were the muscly one at first, before I got used to your name. Lloyd said I probably shouldn't call you that to your face, though.”

“Boyd might actually like the nickname,” Ike mused. “Soren, not so much.” She looked to him expectantly, and he figured she was waiting to hear more about them, too. “I've known them both since we were all kids. Boyd's a good guy. Doesn't always think before he talks, but he's honest and he means well. Soren...” 'Soren is Soren' was what he almost said, because that had always been enough for anyone who'd actually met him before. Nino would probably just be confused. “...He's smart, but he's not great with people.”

“Oh, I hope people aren't too mean to him,” Nino said sadly. She gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, then backtracked quickly. “Wait! That sounds wrong! I only mean, since he looks so grumpy in the pictures I saw, and lots of times people think that makes you a bad guy, but that's not true! Jaffar is like that, and everyone's too mean to him! It's not fair, because he's a really nice person even if he doesn't talk a whole lot. So I just meant, if Soren's like that, I hope no one misunderstands!”

“I wouldn't worry about anyone being mean to Soren,” Ike said awkwardly. It was usually the other way around, but Nino didn't need to hear that. He was having a hard time imagining anyone mistreating Jaffar, for that matter, but maybe there was something there he missed. Anyway, the kid was flat-out blushing now, and he wasn't touching that topic with a ten-foot pole.

“That's good,” Nino said, satisfied. “I hate when people are mean. Father says...” She stopped suddenly, kicking legs stilled. Then she giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. From behind that cover, she whispered, “I think we have company.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Where?”

“There's a man by the door who's been staring for a while. I'm gonna step out and see if he follows. You stay here.” Before he could protest, she said in a singsong voice, “Remember, I'm a professional! And my brothers aren't far, either.”

Brothers or no, it wasn't long after she skipped out the door that Ike regretted letting her go. She could say all she wanted about being a pro, but she was still just a kid as far as he could tell. And those brothers of hers could be standing right next to her, but what good would that do if her pursuer was carrying a gun? He realized leaving now could be a problem on its own, though, if they were both being watched. Besides, going after her relied on his knowing where she'd gone in the first place. So he stayed where he was and waited, uncomfortable as it made him.

He was caught between relief and concern when the wait came to an end and the one to walk through the cafe door was not Nino, but her brother. The younger one, Linus. He strode over with a satisfied smirk on his face and then rolled his eyes.

“Quit making faces; she's fine,” he said. Ike made a conscious effort to relax – he didn't think he'd been making any particular expression, but he also hadn't realized until now that he'd clenched his hands into tense fists.

“What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice level. He stood and picked up the mug that held what was left of his drink, intending to toss it on his way out.

“Found our guy.” Linus grabbed Nino's mug and took a sip, then held it away from his face with a look of disgust. “What'd you let her order, pure sugar concentrate? No wonder she's so jumpy right now.”

“Who's 'our guy'?”

Linus grinned. “Why don't you come see for yourself? He's not far.”

They left the cafe and Linus led him to an alley deep enough that it managed to be dark even in the middle of the day. At the end, standing guard between the brown brick walls, were Lloyd and Nino. They seemed completely at ease with their captive, a bony old man with stringy gray hair. He was down on his knees with his hands tied behind his back, glaring daggers at them both.

“Oh, Ike!” Nino called, waving cheerfully. “I was right, he was following me! His name is Izuka. We started to question him, but then Lloyd said it'd be better if you were here, to see if anything he says rings a bell, so we sent Linus. Welcome back, Linus! Did you bring my tea?”

Linus walked to his sister with the mug in hand, a skeptical look on his face. “This is not tea,” he replied. “I don't think this monstrosity even qualifies as a beverage. Thought we were working on that sweet tooth, sunshine.”

Nino pouted as she swiped the mug from his hand. “My teeth are just fine, thank you very much. Now let's get to work!”

“Way ahead of you,” Linus said. Hands free, he cracked his knuckles. He approached the old man on the ground and grabbed a fistful of hair, forcing him to look up. Izuka directed a mad gaze at him and muttered under his breath, and Linus tugged harder. “You're gonna want to speak up.”

Ike stood back by Nino's side, ready to step in if things got out of hand, but Lloyd was watching his brother carefully. “You need to understand the position you're in,” Lloyd said calmly. “We are not the police, and we are not your friends. You tried to hurt our family. You're not walking away from this, but you can control just how bad it gets before we take you out of the equation.”

At his side, Ike felt a tug on his hand and he looked down at Nino, who winked quickly. He guessed that was her way of assuring him it was only a bluff. He thought it was pretty unlikely the Fang would try an execution here to begin with, given that the police were already well aware of their presence, but he could still appreciate the gesture.

“You really think I have anything to say to the likes of you?” Izuka spat. “Unhand me, you thugs!”

Linus met that response with a backhand across the jaw, Izuka's head jerking back and then forward again. When he looked up again, it was with total shock, and he immediately began to sputter nonsense, only to be hit once more. Ike kept his distance. When he felt the urge to intervene, he reminded himself that this man had only gone after Nino because he thought she was Mist.

“Again,” Lloyd said, “you need to understand the position you're in.”

Izuka stared resolutely at the ground and refused to speak, blood welling up from a split on his lip. Even tied up like he was, the man had a mad, dangerous air about him. Ike took another look at him, trying to decide whether he could have been the hooded man who'd attacked Mist with the knife. Suddenly, he realized he'd heard the name Izuka before.

“You work for the Senate,” he recalled. “And the governor of Daein.” He paused. “And the Fire Emblem, apparently. Not to mention you're wanted for questioning in a laguz trafficking case. You really get around, don't you?”

“What gives them the right to talk to me like that?” Izuka muttered under his breath, staring at nothing. “They think they know everything, do they? They know nothing, less than nothing!” He looked up at Ike and grinned. “I don't work _for_ anyone,” he said.

“Fine, we can say you work _with_ them, if it makes you feel better.” Ike leaned back against the brick wall at his side and rubbed his eyes, trying to piece together everything he knew about this man. There was something there, if he could just make it all fit...

Izuka's name was all over the Senate, and Soren's best guess was that he was manipulating votes there, even if he wasn't sure how yet. He was directly tied to Oliver, at least; Reyson was convinced Izuka was his link to the slave trade. Oliver knew about the medallion, the one the Fire Emblem was using. Could Izuka have been the one to take it in the first place? On the other hand, just looking at the man now, posture like that had to stand out. If he'd actually lifted it off Mist in person, she would have noticed him. Either way, he was sure of one thing.

“You definitely weren't the one who attacked Mist,” Ike said. “So who else is in on this, and where do we find them?”

“Uwee hee hee! You think you're very clever, don't you?” Izuka wheezed. “So what do you need me for? I'm sure you can figure it out on your own, can't you?”

The brothers exchanged a look, Linus still crouching next to Izuka and Lloyd standing behind him. Lloyd nodded slightly and Linus grinned.

“Alright, I've had enough of this,” Linus said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rag, then stuffed it into Izuka's mouth. “So here's how this is gonna go. First, I'll break one of your fingers. Then, when you're done screaming, I'll take that rag out of your mouth and ask you a question, and you can give us an answer, or you can keep talking big. If I don't like what you say, we move on to finger number two. And so on, and so forth. But hey, don't feel obligated to answer right away. Way I see it, we have eight shots at this, and then two thumbs. I like those odds.”

Linus grabbed Izuka's right hand and got a solid grip on his index finger, and Izuka started to visibly sweat. He squirmed against his bindings and made muffled noises against the gag in his mouth, and the sight of it brought a sick feeling to Ike's stomach. Against his better judgment, he decided it was time to put a stop to things.

“Hold up,” he said, and the brothers looked at him in a way that said they weren't really surprised at his interference. Ike pointed at the old man. “He's trying to say something. Give him a chance.”

Linus rolled his eyes and pulled the gag from Izuka's mouth, just enough to let him speak but not so far he couldn't shove it back in at a moment's notice in case he decided to scream. “This better be good,” he muttered.

“I said I'll tell you what you want!” Izuka gasped. “Just don't touch my fingers! How am I supposed to work without my hands?! You can't deprive the world of my genius!” No one bothered to ask what that work was. Ike figured it didn't matter; Izuka was going straight to Elincia as soon as this was over. “Yes, yes, I was in contact with the Fire Emblem,” Izuka babbled. “But I didn't know it at the time. All I did was relay messages – a waste for someone of my talents, but they have about as much class as you simpletons.”

Izuka stopped talking and looked at them triumphantly, and Linus balked.

“You really think we're gonna let you get away with just that?” he said. “The 'simpletons' aren't simple enough to believe that's all you know. Try again.”

“Wha-! What else am I supposed to say?” Izuka said, but when Linus reached for the rag again he let out a shrill cry and started again. “W-wait, there's more! I just remembered, there's more! I never understood what their aim was with the Crimean girl, but I do know where they wanted me to take her! I can show you where!”

Izuka couldn't see it from his position on the ground, but Lloyd was grinning behind him. He made a quick motion to Linus, who stood and traded places with him, looking just as satisfied.

“You'll do one better than that,” Lloyd said, hefting Izuka to his feet. “You're going to call your boss and say you found the girl. I think it's time we met the Fire Emblem.”

* * *

A small backpack slung over her shoulder, Micaiah took one last look around her apartment. Maybe she was being dramatic, but it felt like she was saying goodbye to something here. Having her uncle on her side made her feel safer, yes, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he was underestimating their opponent. Even if everything worked out and they managed to capture the Fire Emblem, Micaiah didn't think she'd be getting out unscathed. Not after how deep she'd been pulled in.

She'd mostly accepted that, but it didn't make things easier. She stepped out the door to the hallway and locked it behind her, then made her way down the stairs to the lobby. Sephiran was waiting there for her, and he guided her out the door with a hand on her back.

“Everything will be fine,” he reassured her.

She wished she could believe it.

* * *

_She turned around, and her son was there, staring at her with innocent curiosity, head tilted to one side. What on earth was he doing here? She had sent him away that morning, both of her children!_

_“Mom?” he said. She looked behind him, through the window at the door, and she thought she saw a shadow there. Was she being paranoid? Perhaps, but she wouldn't chance it._

_“Where is your sister?” she asked her son, trying to keep her voice steady. “Where's Mist?”_

_“She's still at the park,” Ike answered. He began to look worried. “Mom, what's going on?”_

_“Everything will be fine,” she told him. Had she already known then what was going to come? She took him by the hand and led him to his room, pulled the medallion from her neck and placed it in his hands._

_“Everything will be fine, but you need to be very quiet now. Stay in your room and lock the door, and don't open it until your father is home. Do you understand?”_

_He looked down at the medallion and then back at her, fear beginning to seep through his expression. But he nodded once and ran into his room, sparing only one look back as she closed the door._

_Once more, she heard the door open. She swallowed as she felt the tears begin to well in her eyes._ Not my son, _she thought as she left the hallway. Footsteps now, getting closer._ Anything you want, but please, not my child.

_There were two of them there, but only one really mattered. He stood there with a wicked grin on his face, older but the same as she remembered after all, the man who had driven her from her home two decades ago._

_“It's been some time, Elice.”_

_She closed her eyes. That girl was dead._ I am Elena, _she thought, and then she thought no more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please consider your canon defiled (and your Merrics Forever Alone).
> 
> also, tfw you write a novel-length fanfic just because you got two characters mixed up in your head one time...


	16. 3-5

Micaiah had been to Crimea plenty of times before, but none of them recent. Like Sanaki, she'd spent a few years studying there as a child, but she never stayed any longer than she had to. She was always quick to head back to Daein, the only place she'd ever really considered a home. Now, she couldn't escape the thought that if she was lucky enough to set foot in her home again, it wouldn't be as a free woman.

At least Sanaki would be safe, she reassured herself. Her uncle had gone to great lengths to make sure of that, though he didn't share the details with her. The fewer people who knew anything had changed, the better: there was no telling who the Fire Emblem had reached.

The call came in her first night in Crimea. The voice on the phone was that of the man who had sent her there, the stranger with the wild, rambling voice, speaking low and disturbed. He gave her an address and a time, and he told her to go alone.

“This is your last job,” he said. “There will be a girl there, and one of my men. Give him the order to kill her. I'm not fool enough to think you'll do it yourself. If _she_ walks out of that building alive, _you_ will not. And once you're gone, I'll visit the same upon your sister and your friends. Understood?”

“Why?” she asked. “Why send me? Why not just go yourself?”

She never got an answer.

As soon as Sephiran learned the location, he managed to scrounge up building plans and sent Zelgius to scope it out from a distance, and then all three of them spent the rest of the night coming up with a plan. The next day, her uncle took her to the place the Fire Emblem had told her to go. 

“Everything will be fine,” Sephiran told her again, apparently never tiring of the words. “We're right behind you. Stay calm and do everything like we discussed. _Everything will be fine.”_

Then she realized he wasn't trying to comfort her: he was trying to convince himself. So she fought down all her fear and worries and wrapped her arms around him. It took him a moment to return the hug, surprised as he was by it.

“I'm sorry for all of this,” she whispered. “But I'm going to make things right again. I promise.”

* * *

Emmeryn had been within the official borders of Mount Prism only once before, shortly after taking office, during an official meeting with the leader of the manakete tribe. Even then, her access to the place had been greatly limited, essentially confined to the designated meeting hall and the quickest route between it and the public lands. As Tiki led her and Panne beyond even that, she was surprised at how very average the manakete village actually was.

Tiki led them to an old pickup truck parked behind the visitor center and climbed into the driver's seat. They drove for quite a while before it became apparent that they'd arrived in the residential district. Emmeryn hadn't exactly expected otherwise, but for all the effort they took to keep outsiders from intruding on their space, it was odd to realize there was nothing really worth hiding. The land past the base of the mountain was built in a way such that it resembled any given Ylissean rural town, filled with sporadic farmhouses and large yards. There was a sense of idyllic peacefulness about it all, but it was also very...human. It was curious, somehow.

The truck came to a stop in the gravel driveway of a sturdy white farmhouse and they all stepped out. The air was quiet but for the clinking of wind chimes hanging from the front porch. Tiki broke that silence with a polite cough as she began to walk up the porch to the front door.

“The man you're looking for...this might be him,” she said.

She knocked on the door and waited a moment, but there was no answer. Frowning, she tried again, and then she peered through the glass on either side of the door.

“That's odd,” she remarked. “He's usually here at this time of day. I can call Nagi, I suppose...”

“Wait,” Panne said. Emmeryn turned and saw the strange way the taguel was holding herself, head tilted and eyes closed. Panne flinched suddenly and started back down the steps of the porch, turning around the side of the house. Emmeryn and Tiki hurried to follow and found her standing in the wide backyard, a scowl on her face.

“There's someone here,” Panne said. “I can hear them moving around. I just don't know where.”

Emmeryn looked around. The yard was huge and almost entirely empty, at least in the direction Panne was staring. There was a big garage, but it was to their left, and Panne had indicated the noise was coming from ahead of them. A ways back there was field, and then forest, but Emmeryn didn't think her hearing was _that_ finely tuned.

“Are you certain it's a person?” Emmeryn asked.

“Or a very large animal,” Panne said, “but I don't see one of those around either. No, it must be a person. Footsteps. Scraping. They're moving something around.”

“There might be a cellar back here,” Tiki offered. “These homes are fairly new, and most are based off the same sort of design. Most have basements connected to the main house, but I think there are a few with cellars further out. More like bunkers.” She sighed. “Some of our people weren't sure what to expect when they came here. They took precautions in case we were ever targeted again.”

Panne had already begun to move by the time she finished talking, slowly wandering further into the yard. Closer to the field, she stopped, and when Emmeryn caught up to her, the woman was staring at a metal door built into the ground. Up close, it was obvious, but from further away, the tall grass had kept it well hidden. An open padlock hung loose around one handle. Panne reached for it, and Tiki grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” she commanded. To Emmeryn's surprise, Panne nodded and stepped back. Tiki crouched down and rapped her knuckles on the cellar door, calling softly, “Are you in there? We need to talk.”

There was a moment of silence, and then a voice. Low, spiteful. Exhausted.

“Come in then.”

* * *

Izuka followed the Black Fang's commands to the letter. Under Lloyd's instruction, he called his contact in the Fire Emblem and left him a message saying he'd captured the girl he was after and asking what to do with her. Instead of a phone call, he received a text message in return: an address outside of Melior. “Take her there at noon and await further instructions,” the message read.

It should have been a relief, having a clear step forward, but Ike didn't feel any better about things. It was too easy, somehow. It fit too nicely. But he couldn't pinpoint why he felt that way, and when he struggled to explain it to the brothers, they brushed him off.

“You're worried about your sister,” Lloyd said. “Of course you're on edge. That's not going to stop until this is all taken care of, so don't let it get the best of you. If it's a trap, we'll work our way out of it and find another way. Trust us, we know what we're doing.”

He and Linus took Izuka back to their motel, still bound, and told Ike to head home and get some rest before they had to face whatever tomorrow had in store. Ike went home, but he didn't get much sleep. That wasn't unusual lately anyway.

He met the Fang the next morning a few blocks from the building where the meeting had been set up, an old abandoned warehouse. All five of them were there, Brendan and his kids and the broody teenager, plus Izuka, who was no longer tied up. He kept his distance from the others, glaring at nothing in particular and muttering under his breath. Ike decided he wanted as little to do with Izuka as possible.

“What have you got so far?” he asked.

“Jaffar had a look around the building,” Brendan said. “Didn't see anyone keeping watch outside or find any trace of bugs or cameras inside. It looks completely clean. He'll take another look before we send anyone in, just to be sure, but the plan stands for now. Lloyd and Jaffar will hide inside, Linus and I'll keep watch.”

“What should I do?”

“Your father's with your sister, isn't he? Go wait with them. We'll call you when we're done.”

“I'd be more useful here.” The words were out of his mouth before he'd really thought about it, but it was the truth. If this worked, Mist should be safe. And if it didn't, she had their father at her side, and Greil could protect her better than Ike could anyway. The Fang, on the other hand, had no way of knowing what they were walking into. Maybe they'd be fine on their own, but maybe they'd end up needing his help.

And he wanted to see the Fire Emblem face to face. Part of it was needing to know who was after his family, wanting to confront the person who thought they could hurt the people he cared about. The other part boiled down to that nameless thing that had him on edge, built on those fragments of memory surrounding his mother. Even if he didn't have personal reasons for wanting to help, he couldn't stand back. Doing nothing was driving him crazy.

Brendan regarded him with a level gaze, then shrugged. “We'll find a place for you.”

* * *

For all she should have been anticipating this meeting, all Panne felt as she walked down the stairs into the cool, dark cellar was a sense of unwavering calm. Of acceptance. There was a sort of relief in reaching the end, whatever it might hold.

Tiki had been the first to go down, asking them to wait above-ground until she gave them the go-ahead. It was only a minute or two before she called them to join her. Emmeryn reached the bottom of the stairs before Panne, but it took her a moment to adjust to the low lighting. Panne could see right away.

The place was nearly empty, save for an old desk along the back wall. There were shelves along the others, but they were completely bare. A single light-bulb hung from the ceiling, but it wasn't in use. Instead, the only illumination came from the well-used candles on the desk and the very dim glow of a laptop screen beside them.

Sitting in front of the desk was a man, not too old but not too young, either. Somewhere in his 50s, if Panne had to guess, and strikingly unremarkable, in her opinion. The only part of him that stood out were his pointed ears, the telltale sign of a manakete. He looked between the three of them with a bored expression on his face, and slowly he smirked.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You've found me. I knew the tribe would only hide us for so long, but I didn't expect the betrayal to come so soon.”

“Grima,” Tiki said quietly. “Are they telling the truth? About what you're doing here?”

“That depends. What are your new friends telling you?”

It was disturbing to see how the man enjoyed Tiki's obvious distress, and Panne put an end to it at her first chance. “So this is the Fire Emblem,” she said mockingly. “For all the trouble you've caused, you are not what I expected. Only a weak old man.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he said. His eyes flicked over to the laptop behind him, though there was nothing of note on the screen as far as Panne could tell. “Do you have questions? It can't have been easy coming all the way out here. I may as well reward you for that.”

Panne had a number of questions, though they all paled in comparison to her desire to tear into the man in front of her, to cause him physical pain because going by his countenance alone, she couldn't hurt him emotionally. And he had caused her far too much hurt, had caused better people too much hurt. But Emmeryn spoke before she could do anything.

“You're not going to defend yourself?”

“There's nothing to defend. You've found me; you've won. I am at your mercy.”

“Mercy...” Emmeryn said the word quietly, head turned down, and Panne couldn't see her expression. But when she looked back up, there was only sadness in her eyes. “Why are you doing this? Why did you do any of it?”

“To see if I could, mostly,” Grima answered with a shrug. “Were you hoping for a sob story about the poor, persecuted dragons? I never cared much for that tale.” For all the easy cadence in his voice, however, Panne saw the steel in his eyes, and she didn't think that was entirely true. “All it ever taught me was the value of power. If you have enough of it, you can do whatever you want, and no one will bat an eye. All can be forgiven, if you're careful enough with your apologies and patient enough to wait. After all, look at Archanea! Look at how warmly they welcomed their long-lost prince, the son of a man who advocated genocide.” He grinned. “Look at Ylisse, at yourself, minister. Your father was hardly any different, and yet the people love you. Forgive and forget, that's the way it works. I only wanted to pull the wool from the people's eyes, to show them how weak they truly were.”

“Then all of this, everything you've done...was it just a game to you?”

“I prefer to think of it as an experiment.”

Emmeryn was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. “But you weren't working alone. Validar...where is he?”

“Hm? Oh, off looking for his son. If you wait long enough, I'm sure he'll find his way back. But I'd hardly call him an accomplice in all this. He was a tool, at best. I can't say I've enjoyed his company these past few weeks – he talks entirely too much.”

“Who else?”

“Do you want the entire list? It's rather long, I'm afraid. Most of the people who worked for us didn't do so by choice, and there were a great number of them.”

Emmeryn didn't answer, possibly mulling over what she ought to say next. In the silence that followed, Grima's gaze drifted toward the computer again, and Panne tensed. There was nothing there, but he looked at it so intently. What was he...?

“Your brother,” Tiki said, interrupting her thoughts. “Grima, where is he?”

Grima acknowledged the question with a small smile, the meaning of which Panne couldn't guess. “Where indeed? I honestly don't know. I haven't seen him in days. I assume he had one of his spells, though where it led him...”

“Enough,” Emmeryn said finally. “Tiki, please call for Nagi, or anyone else who has the authority to take this man into custody. I'll contact my own men to discuss how we should handle this.”

“Leaving so soon?” Grima drawled. “Isn't there anything else you'd like to know? We've barely scraped the tip of the iceberg.”

There was an edge to his voice, some manner of anticipation, and it set off the alarms in Panne's mind. He looked to the computer again, and finally it clicked: the only information there was the time display, he was looking at the clock. What was he waiting for? She closed her eyes and focused on the silence, past the silence because it wasn't really so quiet now that she listened for it, and she heard it all at once: _tick, tick, tick_. Another clock, a countdown. Beneath the desk, hidden by Grima's feet.

“We need to leave, _now,”_ Panne growled, taking hold of Emmeryn's arm and pulling her toward the stairs. The woman stumbled but followed obediently, though not without question.

“Panne, what's gotten into-”

“Something is wrong, and we need to get out of here!” 

Grima began to laugh, and Tiki hurried to fall into line behind them on the stairs. When they crested the cellar door, the moment they hit the open air, Panne renewed her grip and _ran_ , pulling Emmeryn right along with her. She didn't stop when they reached the driveway, didn't bother with the truck, only kept running until she heard it: the deafening _boom _rending the air behind them. They were far enough away then that the explosion didn't move them, but the quick blast of warm air that followed was sickening.__

Panne turned to look at the house they'd barely left. It stood clear in the hazy air, the point of damage somewhere further back in the yard. Near to the door of the bunker, a fire had started in the grass. He really had known they were coming, Panne thought. He really had planned it all the way through.

Beside her, Emmeryn and Tiki seemed to be speaking, but Panne couldn't make any of it out past the ringing in her ears. Grima, Tiki had called him. The man who had treated her life like a toy, had turned her world upside down. He couldn't have survived that explosion. The knowledge brought her no joy, but there was untold relief.

Panne spared a thought for her family, her tribe, the people she had lost so many years ago. And then she turned to the human beside her and laughed freely at the irony of it all. Perhaps she was the last of the taguel...but thanks to the false hope the dragon had given her, she was no longer alone.

* * *

Mist was bored. That was all there was to it. She sat flat on her back on her bed, hands resting on top of her stomach, and hoped to all that was holy that this would be over soon. House arrest today was proving to be just as dull as it had been a week ago. Downstairs, her father was shuffling around the house doing whatever it was he did on weekends – Mist didn't know; she usually wasn't here to witness it. He'd tried getting her to join him earlier, but nothing he said could make watching golf interesting. So she'd retired back up to her room in the hopes of finding something better to do.

She hadn't had much luck. And it wasn't even noon yet.

She was just starting to doze off when her phone began to ring. She groped for it on her nightstand and blearily held it in front of her face: the caller ID said it was Ike. She felt a brief swell of excitement, hoping everything had gone well – no one would tell her what was going down today, but she knew something big was happening. She accepted the call.

“What's up?” she said. There was no answer. “Ike? You there?” It wouldn't exactly be unlike him to call her by accident; it happened embarrassingly often. She had just decided that was what had happened when a response finally came through, and she just about jumped from the surprise of it.

“Mist, from Melior,” a low, strange voice said.

“Who is this? Why do you have my brother's phone?”

“Are you worried about your brother?” There was silence for a moment, and then she could hear faint voices – too distant to make out what they were saying exactly, but she thought she recognized her brother among them. “He's fine, for now. He won't be if you don't do exactly as I say.”

Now she was sitting straight up in her bed, clutching her phone between her fingers. She looked to her bedroom door. Her father was just downstairs. If she went to him... But that had been Ike's voice, she was sure of it. Whoever this was, they were close enough to hurt him right now.

“I'll do whatever you want,” she whispered. “Just leave my family alone.”

* * *

Micaiah walked down the empty street to the place the Emblem had instructed her to go, taking in the strange sights. The entire area, an industrial park long since abandoned, was eerily deserted. Each huge building she passed was covered in graffiti and boarded-up windows, and she had to sidestep shattered glass on the cracked sidewalk. She was wearing her old red hood at her uncle's insistence, though she didn't see what good it would do. At some point, her identity and her part in all this was going to come out. Hiding now felt more tiresome than anything.

She reached the doors of the warehouse and hesitated only a moment before pushing them open with a loud creak and stepping inside. The floor was disgusting, and easy to see thanks to the light filtering through the few huge windows that retained their glass. It was huge and empty, the staircase to the second floor looking dangerously rusted.

“Hello?” she called out. “I'm here for the...” What was she even supposed to say? Her instructions had been oddly unspecific, compared to the usual. She sighed and decided on simply, “I'm here.”

“In the back,” a strange, warbling voice answered after a moment. There was a door at the back of the wide open room, propped open slightly. Micaiah steeled her nerves and walked toward it, and when she gently pushed it open and looked inside, she had to fight down her panic.

There was a young girl in the center of the room, tied to a chair with her head tilted down. Her shoulders trembled as if she was crying, and the sight of it horrified Micaiah. She could only imagine how terrified the girl must have been, but there was nothing she could do to reassure her without giving her plans away. _Please, hold on just a little longer,_ she prayed.

The old man standing next to the chair was hunched over and greasy-looking, somehow exactly the sort of person Micaiah would have guessed to be working for the Fire Emblem. And he was dangerous, too, if the Fire Emblem believed he would kill on their orders. Micaiah reminded herself that Zelgius wasn't far behind her, and if she could just keep them occupied for a few minutes, everything would be okay.

And after nearly a full minute where the two of them simply stared at each other awkwardly, Micaiah started to think it might actually be that easy. Then the man straightened suddenly and coughed.

“Who are you supposed to be?” he asked.

“I was sent by our mutual friend to relay a message for you,” she answered, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “To tell you what to do with the girl.”

“And...?” He looked more annoyed than anything. There was something darkly funny about that, though Micaiah couldn't feel much beyond blind panic at that point.

“He says-” She couldn't just end it there, not before she had the signal from Zelgius. She needed to buy more time to save the girl, who still hadn't so much as looked up since Micaiah walked in. “He says he wants to know how you did it.”

“How I did it?” the man repeated incredulously. “How I did it?! I found her and I took her, what more does he need to know?!”

Micaiah stepped back at his outburst. “I'm just repeating what he said!”

“Well, I've said all there is to say-”

His eyes widened, and from over her shoulder Micaiah heard the distinct click of a gun's safety catch being switched. She let out a sigh of relief and turned to see Zelgius leveling his weapon at the strange man.

“On the ground, hands behind your head,” he ordered, and the man complied immediately. Gun still trained on the stranger, Zelgius turned to her. “I apologize for the delay. There were others keeping watch on the perimeter. Getting around them took longer than expected.”

“You're right on time,” Micaiah said weakly. She hurried over to the bound girl and carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. “You're going to be alright,” she said, as gently as she could.

The girl finally raised her head, but she wasn't crying. Instead, she only looked confused.

“Wait, wait, this is all wrong,” she said, voice completely devoid of any fear. “I don't get it; you're supposed to be the Fire Emblem! Ugh, where did we go wrong?”

Micaiah took in the petulant look on the girl's face, and suddenly she was the one who felt very confused. “We're here to help you?” she tried.

“Izuka was supposed to call the _Fire Emblem,_ not...whatever you are! No offense.”

“I _did_ call the Fire Emblem,” the man on the floor muttered. “I don't know who she is!”

“Izuka?” Zelgius said. “What are you doing working with the Fire Emblem? Weren't you with the Senate?”

“Oh, he works for a lot of people,” the girl in the chair said. “Wait, how do you know Izuka? Are _you_ with the Fire Emblem?”

Micaiah felt she had very quickly lost any understanding she had of the situation. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry. The situation wasn't helped by a door on the other end of the room slamming open and three new people spilling into the room, all looking less than pleased. The first of them, a tall blonde, took one look at Zelgius holding his gun and scowled.

“Put that down,” he ordered. “We're all on the same side here, apparently.”

Zelgius actually did lower his arms, and Micaiah noted the strange look that came over his face, though she wasn't sure what had caused it. He didn't say anything, instead looking to her as if waiting for her instructions. She had no idea what she was meant to say here, but now they were all looking her way.

“I was sent here by the Fire Emblem to meet one of his informants,” she explained. “He said there was a girl, too, and I was...I was supposed to give the order to have her killed. We were going to save her and use the informant to find the Fire Emblem, but...”

“But we were pretty much doing the same thing,” the man finished. “This is problematic, isn't it?”

“Who are you?” Zelgius asked.

“Shouldn't you introduce yourself first?”

Before Zelgius could take offense, Micaiah held her hand out. “My name is Micaiah. This is Zelgius.”

The blonde man stepped back, satisfied. “Lloyd. The girl is Nino, these two-” he gestured to the men beside him, “-are Jaffar and Ike.” The smaller of the two whispered something too quiet for Micaiah to hear, and Lloyd frowned. “Are you two alone?”

Micaiah looked to Zelgius in confusion, and he shook his head. There was no reason to mention Sephiran: he wasn't anywhere near the building right now. And while she was at least reasonably disguised with her hood and there was no reason for Zelgius to stand out at all, it would have been very bad for the prime minister's reputation to get tangled up in this mess.

“It's just the two of us,” she decided.

“You're sure about that? Jaffar says there was a third man circling the building not too long ago. An older guy, bald, kind of big?”

“He isn't one of yours?” Zelgius said. When they looked to him, he added, “I saw him on my way in, patrolling by one of the entrances. I thought he was with you.”

“He wasn't just passing by,” Jaffar muttered. His gaze flickered to the girl in the chair and his expression somehow darkened further. “He was looking at this place specifically. Something in this building.”

“If he's still here, we need to find him,” Lloyd decided. “If he didn't hear about this place from us or from you, he probably got it from the Emblem. And we don't need him reporting to his boss about our little play here.”

“Agreed,” Zelgius said. “We should split up, cover more ground that way. This park is huge: if he realizes we're looking for him, he could be hiding anywhere. Assuming he's still here at all.”

“If he's smart, he's long gone.” Lloyd grinned. “Let's hope he's an idiot.”

* * *

Lloyd might not have expected their target to still be in the industrial park, but as long as there was a chance, Ike was more than ready to take it. They were so close to being done with this mess. If the guy they were looking for was still here, Ike intended to find him.

He'd split off from the others right away, Jaffar scouring the building they'd started in and the others branching off to cover as much ground as possible. He'd passed by Linus not long after, filled him in on the situation, and moved on.

Running through the empty streets, he looked back and saw the man they called Zelgius seemed to be following the same paths he did. It was weird, but he didn't think much of it. There was only one thing on his mind at that moment. Everything else could wait.

* * *

Mist stood in front of the warehouse doors and gulped. She felt stupid for being out here alone, but what choice did she have? Her dad and Ike would both give her an earful for making a decision like this...but, she considered with a weak laugh, it wasn't like they wouldn't have done the same thing.

The man on the phone had told her where to go and given her an hour to get there. Sneaking out past her father had been simpler than she expected – she just climbed out the window and down the tree in the backyard, the same way she always had on those nights when she wanted to go out past curfew. It was actually easier in the daylight. No one noticed her leave, and she cut through the neighbor's backyard to get to the other side of the block, then started walking. Closer to the city, she called herself a cab to take her where she needed to go.

It was an old industrial park outside the city, empty and creepy and nowhere she ever would have gone by choice. As soon as the cab pulled away, she took out her phone and dialed her brother's, just as instructed. The same man picked up, and he gave her directions to the exact place he wanted her.

As she made her way there, it quickly became apparent that the place wasn't as deserted as she'd thought. She saw Brendan Reed first, and she had to dart around the corner of a building to avoid being seen. The man on the phone chided her for her carelessness and warned her of what would happen if she made a mistake. He helped her navigate her way to the right building without drawing any eyes. The entire time, she wondered if it wouldn't be a blessing to be spotted, to have someone ask what on earth she thought she was doing there.

But she didn't see her brother at all, and that meant he could still be in danger.

The building the man sent her to was at the back of the complex, a big warehouse identical to all the rest. A huge chain and padlock lay at the feet of the front door, conspicuously cut through. Over the phone, the man said, “Go in,” and then the call disconnected.

She obeyed.

Inside, there were large crates and empty shelves, all covered in dust. She sneezed, and the sound echoed through the huge room, startling a nesting bird from the rafters. There wasn't another soul in sight. Unsure of what to do now, she began to walk forward. When she was halfway across the huge room, she heard a clattering noise, and she looked up to where it seemed to come from. There was a room upstairs with large windows overlooking the main space, some sort of office. A metal staircase at the back wall led up to it, and that was where she went.

The staircase shook slightly as she climbed, but it didn't give out. She wanted to call out, to ask if someone was up there, but fear kept her mouth shut. She was shaking by the time she reached the door to the office, propped open slightly. She pushed it open the rest of the way.

There was nothing there.

The room was empty, just a metal folding chair by the windows and a few lockers along the wall. Could someone be hiding in the lockers? They seemed too small for anyone larger than, well, herself. Confused, she stepped inside.

And then she heard the footsteps behind her and the door slamming shut. She whirled around and came face to face with the man who had been terrorizing her for months.

He was old but not feeble, broad-shouldered and tall, a veritable bear of a man. He was bald, but his short-cropped beard was snow-white, and his ears, Mist noted, were pointed. His eyes were a bright red. Not beorc. He stepped toward her, and his face was twisted in a calm sort of fury.

“We finally meet,” he said. “I thought before, on the TV...but up close, yes, it's even clearer. You are your mother's daughter, aren't you?”

“Who...” She backed away toward the lockers, eyes searching desperately for some way around the huge man. There was no way she could fight him. All other thoughts vanished from her mind, replaced by a voice that told her the only way out was around him. Her only chance was to outrun him. Then even that thought was torn away as he reached into his coat and pulled out a gun. Her legs began to shake, but she didn't stop moving.

“You couldn't leave it alone,” he muttered lowly, advancing on her. “None of this was ever meant to be. _You_ were never meant to be. If I had done it right the first time... All the same, I could have let you go. It was never about you, but that _song_...”

She kept moving until her back was flat against the lockers, and then the stranger stopped and leveled the gun at directly at her. He froze suddenly, a look of surprise coming over his face. He stared at the weapon in his hands and laughed.

“This would be too quick for you, I think,” he said. “No, I want you to understand why this is happening. I want to see it in your eyes.” He pocketed the weapon and began to move toward her again. “Humans are despicable creatures. I watched them kill my kin, and they made it slow and painful. Our grudge is with your kind, and yours alone. We never hurt anyone else, if we could avoid it. But the Heron...she had to die, even if she didn't deserve it.”

He stood before her now, and her legs were frozen in place. Still, as he reached one arm out, she tried to duck. He grabbed her arm, then wrapped one large hand around her neck. His grip tightened and she felt her feet lift off the ground. As she choked, he continued, “It was horrible. She sang, when she realized what we were going to do. The sound of it...I'll never forget the sound of it.” He squeezed. “You sang the same song. You won't anymore.”

As her vision began to fade, at last she finally felt her legs again and she kicked out helplessly, one foot making contact with his shin. It was a weak kick, but enough to distract him and he loosened his hold just enough for her head to clear, to make one more effort. She brought her hands around the one on her neck and dragged her nails along his wrist, scratching it open. He grunted in pain and dropped her completely, and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath. Helplessly, she tried to crawl away, and he lifted one foot and brought his boot down directly on her hand. She cried out in pain, and he reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair.

“You won't be doing that, either.”

Suddenly, she heard the door to the office slam open once more, and she looked up hopefully. Relief crashed through her at the sight of her brother standing there, followed immediately by worry. Half of her wanted to be saved; the other half wanted to tell him to run. Hand still fisted in her hair, the man turned to look at his intruder.

“Ike!” she called desperately, still not sure which half of her was winning the battle. But he wasn't moving at all, frozen in place by the door with a look she'd never seen on him before. Eyes wide, his mouth parted, but no words came forth – was he afraid? He didn't so much as blink as the man dropped his hold on Mist and growled menacingly. Mist brought her hands up to her stinging head and scurried back against the wall, looking up at the scene fearfully. 

_“Run,”_ she whispered. But she didn't think he heard the words.

* * *

He knew this man.

When he saw the broken chains outside the door, Ike rushed in. And then he saw the shadow upstairs through the window and knew it had to be the man they were chasing. He ran up the stairs and pushed the door open, and the first thing he saw was his sister on the ground, hurt and afraid. Then he moved to help her, and the man holding her down turned to face him.

And Ike froze.

He knew this man.

He was six years old again, too small, the medallion heavy in his hands. He wasn't supposed to be out here. He should have been in his room. His mother...

He looked at the ground, and it was his mother laying there, prone, blood pooling into the carpet beneath her hair. He didn't go to her. She wasn't moving. He looked up...

This man stared back at him, and his eyes were blood red. Just like his mother on the floor. This man didn't say a word, just turned and left. And Ike went back to his room and he locked the door, and then he hid in his closet and clutched the medallion he hated and he thought about those eyes and the blood and his mother and-

 _“Stay,”_ his mother whispered.

 _“Run,”_ she told him now.

Ike blinked, and the shadows disappeared. He was back in the warehouse, staring at a stranger, Mist curled up helplessly against the wall. He couldn't shake the disorientation completely, but he forced his legs to move. He took one step forward, and the man watched him carefully. If he could just distract him long enough for Mist to run past...

“I know you,” Ike managed to say past the dryness in his throat. It came out uneven and scratchy, unlike him, but he didn't stop. “You killed my mother.”

“Elice's other spawn,” the man said. “I let you live because you were only a child. I never liked to kill children. But they always grow up. I should have known.”

Mist crawled onto her knees, wincing. She looked up at Ike and nodded slightly. She was getting ready to run. He just needed to keep the man talking.

“Elena,” Ike said. “Her name was Elena.”

“I don't care what she called herself.”

“Then what do you care about? Why her?”

“Justice,” the man said breathlessly, wildly. “It was justice! Her family took mine away, so I took her away from them! Is that so hard to understand? They took everything, left my brother and me alone. How was I meant to let that go?”

Mist pulled herself to her feet, shaking slightly. She took a breath. Soon, soon.

“Who are you?” Ike asked.

The man stilled to an almost preternatural calm and tilted his head. “I am Medeus,” he said. “I am the Fire Emblem. And I am the last thing you will ever see.”

Three things happened at once.

The first, Mist began to run, sliding through the thin space between Medeus and the wall next to him, then crashing into Ike's open arms.

The second, Medeus reached into his coat and pulled out his gun, raising his arm to point it at the two of them.

The third, a gunshot rang out through the warehouse, shattering the glass of the office window. Mist cried out in fear. Medeus froze, arm half raised, a look of shock on his face. Red bloomed through his chest and he dropped his weapon. Another shot fired, the second bullet embedded next to the first. He fell to the floor.

Ike covered Mist's eyes and led her back through the door, out onto the rickety staircase. He looked down into the open space below and saw Zelgius by the warehouse doors, gun still in hand and pointed upward.

Finally, it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to being done. So close!


	17. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the epilogue, where every POV character shows up for one last hurrah. Even Oscar, who fell off the face of the planet somewhere around chapter 3.

Greil felt like a fool.

Ike was an adult – there wasn't much he could do about that one – but Mist wasn't quite there yet, and he'd promised himself that he'd keep her out of harm's way, no matter how long this business with the Fire Emblem took.

He hadn't even realized she was missing.

He got the call just past one, panic rising at his daughter's muffled crying over the phone. Then there was a shuffling noise and it was his son on the line instead, asking him to come pick them up. “Some stuff happened,” was all he said. Greil usually appreciated Ike's blunt nature and tendency to take things in stride. This was not one of those times.

“What do you mean, 'stuff'? Why is your sister crying? Are you okay?”

“We're fine. Everything's fine.” A pause. “It's over.”

Greil found them at the entrance of an old industrial complex at the edge of the city, sitting side by side on the curb. There was another man standing near them, a familiar face he hadn't seen in years, but he'd figure out what Zelgius was doing there later. At that moment, his only concern was his children. He got out of his car and marched over to them, then pulled them both into his arms. He wasn't surprised at how tightly Mist returned the hug, but he hadn't expected the same from Ike. 

“You're both in a lot of trouble,” he muttered. “Now tell me what happened.”

Mist started the story, from the call she received from Ike's phone (“And how do you keep losing that thing anyway?!”) to sneaking out of the house (that tree was coming down, Greil decided) to finding her way here to the park. But when she got to the confrontation with her assailant, she went uncharacteristically quiet. Then it was Ike who finished the story, as matter-of-fact as possible.

“I saw him upstairs in the warehouse. He didn't notice me until I was already up there, and then I saw Mist. I kept him talking long enough for her to slip by him, and then that guy-” he nodded toward Zelgius, “-showed up and shot him.”

He said it all without any particular emotion and that worried Greil, but he was hardly about to publicly dissect his son's psyche. Instead, he waved Zelgius over.

“So what exactly were you doing here?”

“Work,” Zelgius answered, avoiding his gaze. Greil found it almost funny. The man had to be in his late thirties at the very least, but here he was, sulking just like the kid Greil had known back in Daein, the tag-along problem child who'd taken years of convincing to believe he could be anything more than that.

“I take it you're not working for the Nevassa PD anymore?”

“Not for a long time,” Zelgius replied with a frown. “I work in...private security now.”

Well, there was no way that wasn't a euphemism for something, but Greil had bigger worries than the apparently sketchy details of his former protege's life.

“When you say someone was shot...”

“He's not getting back up. The man who attacked your daughter is dead.”

“It was the Fire Emblem,” Mist blurted out. “He told us he was. His name was Medeus. Dad, he said...he said he killed mom! He called her something else, though. And he said there was a Heron, too-”

“Lillia,” Ike muttered. “That's who he was talking about, mom's friend. And he called mom Elice.” Before Greil could say anything to that, Ike looked him dead on and asserted, “He was telling the truth.”

Ike put on a brave face, but Greil knew his son well enough to spot the cracks. There was more he wanted to say, but he couldn't do it here. Maybe it was Mist, maybe it was Zelgius – maybe both, but it was apparent Ike wasn't going to say anything else.

“Alright,” Greil said. “Whatever it is, we'll figure it out.”

* * *

Micaiah had heard the gunshots, but she and Nino were the last to arrive outside the warehouse the noise had come from. The two of them and Izuka were the only ones who hadn't been out searching for the mysterious lurker – Nino for the sake of keeping up her apparent disguise, Izuka for obvious reasons, and Micaiah because Zelgius told her to stay put and she trusted his judgment where her own safety was concerned.

But when she heard the gun go off, she was on her feet before she knew it, trying to track down the source. After everything was sorted and she found out the only one hurt was the self-proclaimed Fire Emblem, she thought she should have been glad. But she only felt pity that his life had ended so violently, though it was mixed with the relief of knowing Zelgius was safe. And then, the elation of realizing that safety extended to Sanaki, to Sothe, to all her friends as well.

The people calling themselves the Black Fang disappeared almost right away, though the brother and sister pair they left behind seemed unconcerned by it. Micaiah was afraid to approach either of them; she didn't know what she could possibly say. Zelgius, oddly enough, was doing the same thing as her: hovering awkwardly and stealing glances at the two of them like he wasn't really sure what to do with himself. Finally, the girl announced she was calling her father, and the two of them walked off. After a moment, Micaiah told Zelgius to follow them and make sure they were alright.

She followed too, at a considerable distance. She really didn't want to intrude. Besides, she wanted a few moments alone, some time to process what had happened. The reality of the situation hadn't really sunk in yet: it was all over. She was free.

For now, at least.

She knew Zelgius had called Sephiran right away, and it was only minutes later that he arrived. He took her aside at once and had her explain everything that had happened, nodding along as if she were repeating something as average as a grocery list. Then he called Zelgius over as well, leaving the two siblings on their own for the time being. Something about that seemed to bother her bodyguard, and while Micaiah was too polite to bring it up, Sephiran was not.

“You keep staring at them. What's so fascinating?” he asked.

“Those two... Do they look familiar to you?”

“Not particularly. Why?”

“They said their mother was called Elena,” Zelgius said. “I think those are Gawain's children.”

“Oh,” Sephiran said strangely. “Well, that's...unexpected.”

“Who's Gawain?” Micaiah asked, but Zelgius wouldn't give her a straight answer. Sephiran sighed.

“I imagine you'll be meeting him soon enough, if those two really do belong to him,” he said. “I'll need to talk to them, too, but perhaps it would be better to wait for their father. In the meantime, the police will be here any minute: Zelgius, go take them somewhere they won't be seen. They don't need to be mixed up in all this.”

Micaiah didn't understand what he meant, at first. The two of them were clearly as tangled in all this mess as she was, and she didn't see how keeping their presence from the police helped anyone. But by the time Gawain – or Greil, as he was apparently called now – showed up, she'd gleaned the details.

“Your children have been through an ordeal,” Sephiran explained to the man. “Am I correct in assuming you'd like to keep their names out of this when the story leaks to the press?”

“You really think you can do that?” Greil answered skeptically. “I get that _prime minister_ 's a pretty lofty title, but I don't see how you can control what a group of hungry journalists publish.”

“They can only publish what they know,” Sephiran said with one his sly smiles. “And they won't ever know about your children. The police investigating the crime scene right now certainly don't. Or rather, they'll pretend they don't. I assure you, if you and your children are content to keep their part in this under wraps, I can keep it from ever getting out.”

“Then do it,” Greil answered right away. “Do whatever it is you think you can.”

“Understood. In that case, you'll want to leave before the reporters start showing up. I'll handle things from here.”

Micaiah was used to watching her uncle manipulate people; he did it very impressively, after all. But she'd never seen it on quite this scale. He kept her at his side as he recounted the story for the inevitable news crews, and the tale he told was this: Princess Micaiah was contacted by the person who attacked her younger sister, Sanaki, and that person claimed to be the Fire Emblem. By threatening her sister's life, the Fire Emblem coerced Micaiah into traveling to Crimea, where he planned to kill her. Thanks to a clever ruse, however, Micaiah's bodyguard was able to take him down with two clean shots.

It was a compelling story, Micaiah had to admit, and it cast doubt on any accusations of wrongdoing on her part before the attack. But there was no proof it was true. On the trip back to Crimea, when the three of them were alone once more, she voiced her concerns.

“There were so many other people there. What if one of them says what really happened? Then it's not just me who's in trouble – it's you and Zelgius, too.”

“Who's going to tell?” Sephiran said. “The Black Fang is no longer in Tellius, and even if they were, they're a gang of known criminals. Greil and his children want nothing to do with the story. I'd go so far as to say they're grateful you're drawing all the public's attention.” A very dark look came over his face before he concluded, “And Izuka would be very foolish to say anything contradictory at this point. He's in enough trouble as it is, and he knows I can make it worse.”

She had no trouble believing his words when he said it so confidently. She sighed. On the one hand, she was genuinely free from the shadow of the Fire Emblem. On the other, she was now in the public spotlight more than ever before. Her time with the Dawn Brigade was finished for sure now. She hoped Nolan could keep them all together.

It was already late at night by the time they arrived back at her apartment in Nevassa. She knew her grandmother and Sanaki were waiting for her upstairs, but she was surprised to find Sothe standing on the stoop outside. He very nearly smiled when he saw her, and she thought if not for her uncle and bodyguard flanking her on either side, he would have done it for real.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Well, if Sothe wouldn't smile, Micaiah just have to make her own count for twice as much. She grinned.

“It's good to be back.”

* * *

“So she's the hero now.”

Haar shrugged noncommittally at Jill's statement, eyes still fixed on the station's mounted TV. A news program was recounting the exploits of the Fire Emblem, and they'd just gotten to the part about the princess bravely circumventing the group's sinister plans. “Guess so. Funny how that worked out.”

“Funny. Right.” Jill sighed. “They're not even talking about the Dawn Brigade! I know we never actually tied her to it, but everyone knows the Dawn Brigade was working with the Fire Emblem. What gives?”

“They're just a rumor, far as anyone can prove. And even if we _could_ prove they existed, we don't know who was part of it.”

“How am I supposed to just let this go?” There was an entire gang of criminals in Daein who had collaborated with the worst terrorist threat the modern world had known, and Jill was just supposed to pretend they didn't exist? She was an officer of the law! She had a duty to uphold!

“Calm down,” Haar said. “Just keep doing your job. If they show up again, no one will stop you from bringing them in.”

Jill groaned, but that did seem like the only option here. Tauroneo had specifically instructed her to leave the princess alone after everything that had gone down, and she wasn't about to go behind her superior's back. She looked up at the TV and sighed.

“Still, a hero? You don't actually buy any of this, do you?”

Haar smiled. “Who knows?”

* * *

The Fire Emblem was gone, but it was hard to say Ylisse was healing.

In shock, perhaps, was a better word for it. For the first time in weeks, Emmeryn went to work in the morning and there weren't any protesters outside her building. It seemed the entire country had fallen into a subdued mood, rocked by the news that the Fire Emblem had been residing within their own borders.

Emmeryn's first thought was that they needed to track down the brother Tiki had mentioned, likely another member of the group, but it was only hours later that the news of his death broke out of Tellius. Tiki said it was only the two of them living in that house, Medeus and Grima. The latter's body still hadn't been recovered. 

The bomb he'd set had gone off outside of the cellar, the interior surprisingly intact. Apparently it really was built like a bunker, meant to withstand any attack. No one could say if Grima had been inside when the bomb went off, whether he'd survived or not, but no one had seen or heard from him since, either. The bureau hadn't had any luck in finding Validar, either.

So far, there had been no reports of activity from the Fire Emblem since their deaths. Emmeryn was cautiously optimistic that the organization was, indeed, finished. Now, she had to focus on fixing the troubles in Ylisse.

The fact that Medeus and Grima had been hiding among the manaketes was tempered by the public statement that it was only with Mount Prism's cooperation that he was found at all. Still, Emmeryn knew there would be backlash against the tribe. It was with that in mind she met with their leader, the woman called Nagi.

They were already acquainted from Emmeryn's days as a diplomat, and then her early days in office, but they had never met under such tumultuous circumstances before. It was impossible to keep Walhart from the meeting, either, given that the subject of Grima and Medeus, and how complicit Mount Prism had been in their plans, was bound to come up.

“Of course we didn't know what they had done,” Nagi told her. “If we had known, do you think we would have let them on our lands? You say their grudge was with humans, but the Fire Emblem is no friend of ours, either. Many of our own kind died during the conflict in Magvel.”

“But you were hiding them,” Emmeryn said.

“We welcome any manakete at Mount Prism. We don't _hide_ anyone. When Grima and Medeus came to us...do you know about their past? They were only children during the Scouring. Their parents, their entire tribe, were killed before their eyes. They came to us and asked for solitude, and we granted it. We couldn't have known what they were doing.”

“And Validar?” The question came from Walhart, who had observed the meeting quietly until that point. “We know the brothers were hiding him for at least a month. Do you mean to suggest no one ever noticed a human wandering around a city full of manaketes?”

“If Validar ever was at Mount Prism, none of us were made aware,” Nagi said coldly.

“And that's your official stance on this.”

“Yes.”

They had nothing to disprove that statement other than their own agents' observations on Tiki's evasive behavior, and that simply wasn't enough to argue that Nagi was lying. While Emmeryn wanted to know the truth of the situation, she was almost relieved to avoid yet another diplomatic incident when the country was already under such strain.

“That will be all for now,” she said tiredly. “Thank you for coming in today, Nagi. Your cooperation in this investigation is greatly appreciated.”

Nagi nodded and returned the sentiment, then left along with her retinue. Walhart watched the exchange impassively. He didn't speak until minutes after the manakete host had gone.

“You're planning to let them get away with it?” he said.

“No,” Emmeryn said with a sigh. “I want to know what happened, but we weren't going to get anywhere without proof. If I'd insinuated she was lying, it would only have served to upset the manakete tribe as a whole. And if word got out, it would bolster the sentiment against them, and then...” She waved her hand in the air.

“So you let her go for fear of setting off a second Scouring.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,” she admitted. “I know you'll keep investigating. I only ask that you do so with care for the political landscape as a whole.” Walhart scoffed and Emmeryn added, “If it helps, I have considered the request you made when this all began. You asked for new recruits, didn't you?”

“I'd settle for competent replacements,” Walhart grumbled, but his interest was obvious.

“I have a volunteer in mind.”

* * *

After Mount Prism, Panne didn't know what she was supposed to do with herself. She had always been adaptable – she had to be, living the kind of life she had, always on the run. Now, for the first time, she felt lost.

She had never formed any sort of lasting attachments before. She'd never had 'friends'. It had always been easy to slip away when things got messy and start over in a new place, but she couldn't do that this time. There were people who would notice her absence.

And she didn't want to leave.

That was a disturbing thought all on its own. It felt like a weakness to rely on other people, but over the past two months, Panne had undoubtedly come to care for Emmeryn. For Cordelia and Sumia. She even felt a lingering affection for the others she'd met in Ylisstol, though she'd known them only a short while. If she left, she would worry about them. If she stayed, the problem would only grow worse.

She never voiced those concerns, but somehow Emmeryn still managed to offer an alternative.

“For someone who's never had any formal training, your skills at investigative work are impressive,” the minister told her one day. “Have you considered putting them to use in an official capacity?”

“How do you mean?” Panne asked, suspicious but curious as well.

“The Ylissean Intelligence Bureau is always searching for talented agents. It's a highly competitive field and there's a great deal of training involved, but you're certainly a good candidate. Walhart has agreed to take you on, if you're interested.”

“Walhart,” Panne repeated. He was not her favorite person, though it had more to do with the way they'd met than anything else, at this point. She was under the impression he didn't care for her, either. “I would be working for Walhart?”

“Eventually, once your training was completed. His division handles incidents all over the country, so there would be a lot of traveling involved. I thought you might enjoy that.”

Panne turned the thought over in her mind. It sounded more or less like what she'd been doing her entire life, only now she would be following someone else's instructions...and getting paid for it, which perhaps would make up for that caveat. “And when I wasn't working, I'd come back here to Ylisstol?”

Emmeryn smiled. “If you like.”

* * *

Soren felt a sick sense of satisfaction at getting rid of the last of Sanaki's files. She was inordinately pleased with what he'd managed to dig up on Izuka, and if Soren cared more, he might have been curious as to why. But as long as the Little Empress paid in full, he had no interest in knowing what political games she would use the results for.

Besides, he knew full well that Izuka would _at best_ be spending the rest of his life behind bars for his role in the Fire Emblem debacle. Terrorism and treason were not a kind combination of charges to have levied against you.

No one outside of Greil Investigations, the Black Fang, and the others who had been present on the day the Fire Emblem died knew about Mist or Ike's role in the events. That was fortunate. For one thing, neither one of them was the sort to enjoy a public spotlight. For another, the constant attention would have made business as usual a difficult task. In any case, it was irrelevant, because their involvement was a well-guarded secret.

It meant Soren was twice as angry as he ought to have been when his brother decided to phone in and ask how his “friends were recovering after their ordeal.”

“Excuse me?” Soren said. His tone of voice alone should have been a dead giveaway to Pelleas that this was not a wise avenue of conversation. Pelleas, of course, ignored his generous warning.

“I heard things got pretty messy, so I wanted to check in. It was your roommate and his sister who were attacked, right? Are they doing okay? Are _you_ doing okay? I saw that stuff about Izuka and I know what was in those files mom sent you-”

“The _attack_ was on the princess. Where did you hear otherwise?”

There was a pause. “Oh...was I not supposed to know that?”

Soren sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pelleas, where did you even hear about that?”

“Um. Micaiah told me. She remembered me asking about Izuka a little while back, and then I told her about you, and the people you work with came up, and...well, if it helps, I don't think she meant to tell me about it. It just sort of slipped out.”

“Do you honestly not see how that is worse?”

“Oh! Well, it's not like she would tell just anybody, so don't worry about that. Like I said, the conversation was sort of headed that way, so-”

Soren abruptly disconnected the call and sighed. Nothing ever ended simply.

* * *

If it meant getting away from her lousy brother, Marcia almost wished she could go back to the hospital.

Oh, fine, so it wasn't _that_ bad, but Makalov was driving her up the wall with all his whining! After two weeks in the hospital, Marcia was finally released on strict orders to rest. Much to her surprise (and later disappointment), Makalov outright insisted she was coming home with him until her wound was totally healed. She was mostly joking when she asked if he was planning on harvesting her kidneys to pay off a gambling debt while she was too weak to fight him off, but he didn't laugh. He just started blubbering again about how he was gonna step up and be a real big brother for once.

It was nice for about a day. He waited on her hand and foot, made sure she took her medication, even made her homemade soup, which she had no idea he even knew how to do. Then, when it turned out he was actually terrible at the whole soup thing, he had the grace to hold back her hair while she blew chunks into a bucket next to the bed. It was the thought that counted.

At least, that's how she'd felt two days ago. Now, she wanted to throttle the lout. Every day it was the same thing, “Marciaaaaa, how are you feeling?” “Sis, what can I do?” “Is the TV too loud?” “Is the AC too high?” “Are you sure you should be moving around so much?” He just wouldn't shut up! She never thought she'd want her lazy, good-for-nothing brother back, but this new clingy persona was creeping her out.

“Don't you have any savings to blow at the casino?” she huffed one day as he folded sheets in his living room. That was another thing she didn't think he knew how to do (to be fair, he wasn't doing it well). “Or, hey, you haven't made Astrid cry lately, maybe you should work on that.”

“I don't have any savings,” Makalov said, way too proudly. “And Astrid doesn't cry! ...It's actually kind of weird, now that I think about it. Girls are supposed to cry, aren't they?”

“Only when they're with you,” she quipped. He laughed. She sighed.

Holy crow, she actually missed working for the kid.

* * *

Ike thought the nightmares would stop when things went back to normal. When he made the connection between his stilted memory and the Fire Emblem, it only reinforced his belief that with the problem solved, he could stop thinking about things he'd once forgotten.

It wasn't working out that way.

Tonight had been different, and he wasn't sure if that was better or worse. There was the usual dream of his old room and the medallion. The crack of a gunshot. Now, when he looked past the door, it wasn't his mother's body laying on the floor.

He didn't feel guilty about it; he hadn't even been the one to end his life. But Medeus's body was there all the same, and he woke up feeling sick to his stomach. He felt the unreasonable urge to call his father and check on Mist, even though he knew she was safe. Instead, he climbed out of bed and relocated to the tiny couch in the living room and distracted himself with bad TV.

Somewhere around 4 a.m. Soren wandered into the room. Ike wasn't sure whether he'd been woken up by the TV or something else, but he didn't look surprised to see him sitting there. Soren let out a soft sigh and gave him an unreadable look.

Ike decided at that moment that if it came down to Soren asking him to talk about his feelings, things really had become completely hopeless.

But Soren only nudged his shoulder to get him to make room on the couch, then sat down and scowled. “What are we watching?” he asked.

“Something about sharks, I think.”

“How exciting,” he drawled, sounding about as excited as he looked, and Ike felt some of the tension drain away. This was easy, this was normal. He could do this.

Everything else, he could deal with in the morning.

* * *

Oscar was just getting ready to go home for the day when Elincia called him into her office. He wondered if a new case had come in, but then she specifically asked Kieran to wait outside...which meant it wasn't about the job, but Oscar himself. He was more curious than anything, feeling confident he hadn't done anything particularly noteworthy of late.

He stepped into her office and closed the door behind him, and Elincia hesitated before she spoke. “I apologize if this comes off as a strange question, but are Ike and Mist doing well?”

Of all the things she might have said, that hadn't occurred to Oscar as a possibility. He frowned. “Have you not seen them since...everything went down?” He knew probably too much about what had actually happened at the warehouse, and it contradicted just about everything the TV stations were reporting. He was under the impression Elincia knew as well, and judging by her question now, that assumption had been correct. So he wasn't sure why she was asking him about the siblings instead of going straight to the source.

Elincia smiled awkwardly. “I don't want to be intrusive. I can't imagine what they're going through right now. I thought perhaps I should give them some time before I... Well, I don't want them to think I'm trying to get the police involved or anything like that.”

Being the go-between for the police and a private investigator's company was an odd position to be in when it only involved work. When it extended to personal matters, Oscar decided it just felt bizarre.

“They know you better than that,” he reassured her. “They won't be offended if you want to offer your support. I'm sure they'd appreciate having a friend on their side.” It was the truth, even if Ike wouldn't say it out loud and Mist would worry about getting Elincia into trouble. In any case, Elincia seemed relieved at the answer. She sighed and then smiled more genuinely, folding her hands politely in front of her.

“I'm sorry. This isn't very professional, is it?”

Oscar did not say that their entire squad was filled with the most unprofessional people he had ever met. Between Kieran, Bastian, and Devdan, he no longer knew what 'professional' meant. Besides, he quite liked their dynamic just the way it was.

“Please, I don't mind at all.”

* * *

It was good to have things back to normal, Rhys thought. After all the trouble Mist, Ike, and Greil had been through, he was just happy they could finally relax again. Titania always said he worried too much, but even she couldn't say he was overreacting this time.

It was nice to have Mist back in the office in the afternoons, her cheerful smile brightening the place up. Rolf had been sulking since she'd stopped coming by, and Boyd didn't seem to understand that his teasing only made things worse. Both of the brothers seemed much happier with Mist around.

He hadn't seen much of Greil since everything had gone down, but Titania assured him he was doing well. Keeping himself busy, but not avoiding what had happened. Rhys told her he was glad to hear it, and to let him know if there was anything he could do to help.

Ike seemed to be back to his usual self as well, though he never seemed to waver much anyway. So Rhys was surprised when he walked up to the desk one morning and said he was taking some time off.

“Two weeks, tops,” Ike said. He scratched his head. “I mean, I'll probably just be upstairs most of the time, but...”

“Well, you're the boss, so it's not like I can tell you no,” Rhys said lightly, attempting levity. People always said he was too serious. But Ike just looked confused, apparently not understanding the joke, and Rhys suddenly felt very foolish. “Please take all the time you need. It won't be an issue; Mia's been asking for more work anyway.”

“Right,” Ike said.

“Right,” Rhys repeated awkwardly. “So...when does your vacation start?”

“...I hadn't thought that far ahead.”

* * *

Oliver had accepted a plea deal and Izuka was facing worse charges than Serenes could ever have dreamed up for him, so Reyson was willing to count it as a win in his books. Where the senator was concerned, he was mostly just glad to be rid of him. As far Izuka went, the man undoubtedly had ties that could lead them even further into the heart of Tellius's underground laguz trafficking trade. At least half a dozen federal and international agencies wanted to get their hands on him, and when it was the Bird Tribe's turn, Reyson would make sure every second counted.

It was nice to have a solid win for once. Their problems weren't solved for good, not by a long shot, but at least a major player was now out of the game. He really was content with that.

So he wasn't expecting the sudden visit from Ike, who showed up unannounced at his office in the middle of the day when Reyson was fairly certain he should have been at work. The drive between Melior and Serenes was not a short one; Reyson should know for how often he'd had to make it over the past few months.

“What brings you out here?” he asked curiously.

“Figured there was something you should know,” Ike said plainly. “It's about your sister.”

Before he could ask what on earth Leanne had gotten herself into, Ike amended, “Lillia, I mean. You said you had a sister named Lillia, didn't you? And you thought she was killed by traffickers.”

“What do you mean, 'thought'?” Reyson had a lot of questions, but that seemed like an easy enough place to start. “They took her when she was only a child, and then when she-”

“I don't know how she ended up in Daein, but whoever took her wasn't the one who killed her.” Ike scratched his head awkwardly. “Listen, it's gonna come out at some point, and I wanted you to hear it first: Lillia was killed by the Fire Emblem.”

“By the Fire Emblem,” Reyson repeated blankly. By an international terrorist. By some Archanean manakete called Medeus, going by the latest reports. “Are you... First of all, how do you know that?”

“I can't say.” Only Ike would think he could just give an answer like that and no one would question it further. He added, “But he confessed to it before he died. He said there was a Heron, and she sang a song before... Anyway, I'm pretty sure it was Lillia. The timeline fits.”

“And what reason could the Fire Emblem possibly have had for killing Lillia?”

“She was protecting someone else they wanted.” Ike paused. “I really don't know a lot of the details, but she was your family. You deserve to know the truth, so I'll tell you what I can.”

For close to fifteen years, Reyson's family had mourned the loss of Lillia. The injustice done to her was what led him to choose the career he had, it was how he ended up interacting with scum like Oliver and Izuka on a daily basis. All of it to keep anyone else from going through what his family had...and now he learned he hadn't even been fighting the right enemy. The reality of it stung, and part of him didn't want to believe what Ike was saying. But another part was desperate for a real answer to his sister's fate, some news that could finally bring his father closure.

“Tell me,” he said.

* * *

The boss was great and all, but Mia would be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying his vacation just a little more than she really should be. It wasn't as if she liked not having Ike around, but when he wasn't there, Soren and Rhys threw all kinds of jobs her way! Boyd complained about it, but she could tell he was having just as good a time with all the running around and busyness, too.

She triumphantly arrived back at the office with yet another stack of photos disproving a phony insurance claim (her fourth successful one this week), dropping them in front of Rhys at the front desk with a grin.

“So what's next?” she asked him.

Rhys frowned. “I just gave you that assignment two hours ago.”

“I work fast! C'mon, Rhys, there's more to do, right? Day's only halfway done!”

“Maybe you should take a break?” he suggested. “You're getting paid either way. You don't need to run yourself ragged-”

“Ha, 'ragged'? Really? This is my chance, Rhys! When the boss gets back, he'll be so impressed he'll give me more work than ever! I'm gonna be the best P.I. this city has ever seen, mark my words!”

“That's not really a quantifiable...” Rhys trailed off and then looked at her suspiciously. “Is this because you didn't get to work on the senator case?”

“It's not _not_ because of that,” Mia said slowly. She sighed at the offended look on his face. “Okay, listen, you don't know what it's like! You _like_ sitting at the desk all day. Next time a big job comes up, I want the boss to know he can trust me to do my part out in the field, not plop me down in a chair cause he's scared I'll mess things up.”

“That had nothing to do with your work ethic,” Rhys said. “You just weren't suited for that particular job.”

“I'm suited for any job!” she insisted. “Seriously, just watch me. Give me any job at all, and I'll get it done.”

With a little more convincing, she managed to wheedle another job out of Rhys. Nothing too fancy, just some lady who thought her husband was getting a bit too cozy with his secretary, but Mia stood by her word. She'd prove she was the best P.I. Greil Investigations had on staff.

And the next time a big job came up, she was gonna be on the front lines with everyone else.

* * *

At the end of the work day, Cordelia lifted Aurora into her jeep and patted the dog's head. She felt bad for how little time she'd spent with her during the investigation into the Fire Emblem. Aurora leaned into her touch, panting happily. She was a well-trained dog; even with the minimal amount of action she'd seen over the past few months, when it was all wrapped up and things returned to normal, she jumped back into her role without a hitch. Cordelia wished she could adjust so easily.

She got in the car and drove. Sumia was already there when Cordelia arrived back at their house, whipping up some culinary concoction at the kitchen counter. She greeted her with a smile, but there was something troubled in her eyes.

“Did something happen today?” Cordelia asked, hanging up her coat.

“Sort of,” Sumia mumbled. She sighed. “I was talking to Emmeryn. Chrom still hasn't turned up.”

“O-oh. That's...unfortunate.” Cordelia was almost proud of how little her voice shook. Someday, this would stop being a problem. _Someday._ She walked over to the island counter and sat down on a bar stool. “It's not like he just disappeared, though, right? He's called her to check in.”

“But he won't say where he is, or what he's doing. She's really worried about him.”

A lot of people were really worried about Chrom, if the murmurings at the station were true. It had been two weeks since anyone had seen him, and he'd left without so much as a goodbye. The last appearance he'd made had been on the morning of the day the Fire Emblem was taken down: he'd stopped in at the 1st precinct to drop off his badge, and then he was gone before anyone could challenge him over it, not even offering an explanation.

Captain Phila said Frederick was in sort of a funk about it. Cordelia understood he was close to Chrom and his family, so she could see why the sudden change would upset him – it hadn't been any easier on his friends, going by what Sumia told her. Really, it was a messy situation no matter how Cordelia looked at it.

“I'm sure he'll come back when he's ready,” Cordelia said, though she didn't quite believe it herself. For something to make him take off like that in the first place, it must have been serious. “In the meantime, worrying will only make you feel bad.”

“I suppose you're right,” Sumia said. She was quiet for a moment, and then she brightened considerably. “Oh! There was good news, too, though! Emmeryn was telling me about Panne...”

* * *

On the one hand, the unhinged Plegian woman was a massive nuisance. On the other, Pheros _had_ been tasked with returning her to her homeland, by Walhart's direct order.

Tharja was nowhere to be seen. Pheros had no idea where the woman had run off to. She'd turned her back for only a minute, she swore, and then...

If she couldn't find her soon, Walhart would not be pleased, and that was an outcome Pheros desperately wished to avoid. Walhart had told her he was impressed by the way she performed her job in Plegia, and she intended to stay in his good graces. If only she could find her wayward charge...

Pheros groaned. Why couldn't things ever just work out?

* * *

Rain again. The weather had certainly been consistent since the Black Fang had taken that job in Tellius. Lucius allowed himself a quiet laugh. Nino was almost like their own personal sunshine, it seemed. The children were all in a dour mood from being cooped up inside for so long. Ah, well. At least Raven had patched up the roof. Speaking of, he should be back from the store soon. 

Sure enough, Lucius heard the front door swing open, but when he went to the hall, it wasn't Raven standing there.

“Lucius!” Nino cried happily, shucking off her rain boots and running to pull him into a hug. It took him a moment to recover from the shock, but when he had, he returned the embrace and patted her head.

“Welcome back, Nino,” he said softly. 

“It's good to be back,” she mumbled into his chest.

Lucius looked back to the door, where Nino's constant protector was standing outside, silently holding a bright pink umbrella. Lucius tried very hard not to laugh as he said, “You as well, Jaffar. Come in, please.” The young man grunted and closed the door, stepping inside and closing the ridiculous umbrella.

“How was your trip?” Lucius asked. He thought back to the conversation they'd had before Nino left. “Did you...what was it, _'save a life'_?”

“We did more than that,” Nino said proudly. “Remember the Fire Emblem? Those bad guys who made all that trouble for dad and...” She stopped, likely thinking about her mother, and Lucius nodded encouragingly. “Well, they're not going to trouble anyone else ever again!”

“You met the Fire Emblem?” Lucius said doubtfully. He'd heard scattered news reports this morning about incidents in Ylisse and Tellius, but none of it had mentioned anyone from Elibe. Of course, this was the Black Fang. Despite their grudge, there was the chance they didn't want their name on all of this. If they wanted to stay hidden, they would.

“I mean, not personally,” Nino said. “But I came close! And they definitely wouldn't have caught him without me! Dad says it's better if people don't know about that, though. He made us leave as soon as it was done. I didn't even get to say goodbye to my new friends...”

She sounded unhappy about it, but Lucius felt relieved. Her world was dangerous enough as it was without the public scrutiny that would come from being involved in an international scandal. “It sounds to me like you've done the world a favor,” he said. “You should be proud. And perhaps when things have calmed down, you'll get to see your friends again.”

“Yea,” Nino said, a light in her eyes. “Yea, I'll definitely see them again!”

* * *

Two weeks after Medeus died, there was a package addressed to Mist waiting on her father's doorstep. Greil was careful in opening it and didn't let her touch it until he'd seen what was inside. As he lifted the cardboard flaps, his eyes widened and he frowned. Shaking his head, he handed the box over to her.

Mist looked inside and gasped. It was her mother's medallion, shined like new. She wasted no time in lifting it from the box and sliding the chain around her neck, relishing the feeling of having it back. She knew she was grinning like a fool, and she didn't care. She'd missed it so much!

There was a note underneath it, addressed to her and signed by the prime minister, Sephiran. They'd barely spoken that day at the warehouse, but she thought he seemed like a nice enough man. Glancing at the note, she decided she was right. He'd gone to the trouble of returning her necklace, after all.

 _I believe this belongs to you,_ the note read. _It was recovered from the crime scene. Now that it's been thoroughly inspected and recorded, I see no reason it shouldn't be returned to its rightful owner. I thought I should tell you, in case you were unaware: I did some research into the craftsmanship, and due to its unique design I was able to trace it back to an elderly jeweler in Archanea. He claims he only made one of its kind, a gift for the Archanean princess, Elice. Of course, she was tragically killed when she was only a girl, at which point the medallion somehow ended up on Tellius's shores. It's a fascinating story, isn't it?_

Mist stared at the letter, then at the medallion. She thought she must have sat there in silence for a very long time before her father cleared his throat and held out his hand. She gave him the letter wordlessly and waited for his reaction. When he was done reading, he only narrowed his eyes.

“Huh,” he said.

“Huh,” she agreed. What else was she supposed to say? 'Hey dad, mom wasn't a long-lost princess, was she?' Or maybe, 'Say, you'd tell us if we were secretly royalty, right?'

...She laughed. She couldn't help it; the whole thing was just too absurd. It must have been catching, because soon Greil was laughing right along with her. They laughed until they had tears in their eyes, and then Mist was so exhausted that she almost wanted to cry in earnest.

“Medeus called her Elice,” Mist said when she'd caught her breath. “I looked it up, you know. That was the name of the princess who was supposed to have died. And their ages match up. But they don't really have any good photos of her online, so I wasn't...I mean, the whole idea is crazy, isn't it? Mom wasn't a princess. It's crazy, right, dad?”

“It's _something_ anyway,” he answered.

“No, you were supposed to tell me I was right and it was a crazy idea,” Mist pointed out. Greil snorted, laughing more openly than Mist thought she'd ever seen him do before. Shaking with laughter, he shrugged.

“You always said you wanted to be a princess when you were little.”

Then Mist was laughing again, too. It was too much to take just then, not after everything they'd been through. Before long, she knew, it wouldn't be funny anymore. Then she'd have to face everything that meant, confront the possibility that her mother had been more than she ever imagined.

But until then...just for a little while more, she would laugh and cherish her mother the way she'd always remembered her, as just the gentle woman who sang her to sleep when she was young. Whatever came next, she thought, holding the medallion between her hands...after all this, whatever came next, she could handle it.

* * *

At last, the Fire Emblem was laid to rest. The world moved on without it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that fucker's done. Feel free to point out all the plot holes I'm sure I forgot to fill.
> 
> To anyone who made it this far: thank you for reading this. Seriously, thank you.


End file.
